Of a Time Long Passed
by UnluckyIrishBreifcase
Summary: Ten years ago, the volcano Laki re-erupted, devastating the former Republic of Iceland. Emil Steinsson, a young man scraping buy in his studio flat in Reykjavik, is trying to make a name for himself as a fantasy author despite the ruined country. However, when characters from a past long forgotten return, he is forced to realize that what he thought was fiction just might be real
1. Chapter 1: A Hard Life

Authors Note: Alright, time for my first story! And what better place to start than Hetalia?

Anyway, I'd like to point out this isn't really an AU, so much as a Twenty Minutes into the Future thing.

Chapter updates might be kinda sporadic, but bear with me. Also, If anyone would like to help me out with all the Icelandic stuff, I would _greatly_ appreciate it.

In the mean time, I hope you enjoy what I have so far!

-Erin

* * *

Life was hard. Life was always hard. This was nothing new for Emil. He was used to it. Living in a small flat in the city of Reykjavik, scraping by with several odd jobs and a dream. This is how it always was, and he didn't complain.

Emil Steinsson was a simple young man, living in a small studio apartment in the city of Reykjavik. His days were spent working long hours for low pay at everything from a coffee-shop, to a delivery company, to a fast-food restaurant; and some other one-time positions. His nights were spent clicking away at a small, outdated, barely functioning laptop in hopes of one day becoming a famous author. At the moment, it was well after sundown in his tiny studio apartment. He was sitting on the floor, since he had no chair, or desk. The only furniture was a small table from a junkyard and futon from a friend, along with some random applainces. As he sat on the floor, Emil's head was crained towards the ceiling, and a look of utter frustration contorted his face. He had writers block. It was just the point for the main character in his epic fantasy work-in-project to have his earth-shaking revelation, and he had _no_ idea how to lead up to it. After a long moment, He snarled in aggravation, brought his head down, and snapped the laptop closed. Finally admitting defeat, he stood up and stretched before heading towards the tiny kitchenette near the front. He scrounged around half-heartedly, but changed his mind, realizing boredom snaking was a bad idea with his perilous finances. Discouraged, he flopped on the futon. He looked to an old analogue clock ticking on the wall. It was almost midnight. Usually he didn't go to sleep until 1 to 2 in the morning. Maybe he'd do something different…

With a sigh, Emil slipped his pants and socks off, and banished them to the dirty clothes corner, with all the other garments waiting to be washed at the end of the week. He hauled himself to the sink in the tiny half bath of the main room, and brushed his teeth. As he did so, he looked up to the mirror in front of him. He scowled at the haggard being. before him. Emil was young, only about 20 or so, with ash-blonde hair that seemed permanently bed-headed, and strange blue eyes that were almost violet. He also had dark patches beneath his eyes, and a general worn air; all side-effects of his hard life-style. Once he deemed himself done, he spat into the sink, turned off the lights, and returned to the futon. There, he cocooned himself in the heavy blankets. He couldn't afford a heating bill. In any situation, it didn't take long for him to fall into deep sleep, and he was off to dreamland within the next half-an-hour.

_It was cold. Wind howled in the trees behind him. Waves crashed on the rocks below him. He was staring out a great ocean. The Atlantic. His stretch of it anyway. He wasn't chilled or scared. He had someone besides him. He looked up -he was no more than a child. There stood a taller man, with golden hair and old style clothes. The man's face was indistinguishable, like he was seeing it through water. He smiled, happy to see the man. The man smiled back, and tousled his hair. The hand was warm and familiar, and he leaned into it. The man said something, but he couldn't make it out. It sounded like an echo from far away. Suddenly, the image of the man seemed to grow far away. He cried out, and tried to run towards it. The image only seemed to move farther and farther__. He screamed, growing scared. He was running as fast as he could. 'Don't go! Please don't __go!'_

Emil jolted awake. Pale dawn filtered through the window above him. The morning was bitterly cold, and he shivered violently. But he got up anyway. The clock read 5 in the morning. He had to get ready for his first job at 6. He groaned, and dragged himself back to the half-bath. There he started up the shower, and began the monotonous morning ritual of getting ready for the day

By the time Emil was done the shower had warmed up, and he stepped inside. He let the water run over his skin for a long moment, spacing out in one of the few little luxuries he had. He also went over the dream. That made him scowl. It was another of several dreams like that. All with that one man, smiling and tousling his hair; and all at different times, judging by the clothes this stranger wore. Ranging from the 8th and 9th centuries, to the 2010's. Every time with the man seeming to disappear into the distance, and always with those words; 'Don't go! Please don't go!'. Emil shook the memory away, and snapped out of his revelry in the warm water. He had a life to get ready for, one that didn't wait for weird dreams or long, hot showers.

At a quarter to six, Emil was out the door and onto the city streets. The year may have been 2023, but Reykjavik looked almost abandoned. Buildings were neglected, streets worn. It was a sorry site.

It was a pretty good summation of the state rest of the nation, too.

In 2015, the great fissure Lakagígar - more commonly known as Laki - re-opened in a spectacular, and horrific repeat of its eruption of 1783. The global economy was devastated as air traffic across the northern hemisphere ground to a halt, and it took years to recover. But that was nothing compared to what happened to Iceland itself. More than half the population evacuated to escape the volcano, and those that remained were almost starved out by the toxic fog that enveloped the land. The government and economy collapsed, and the country gave up its independence. Iceland went under the sovereignty of the Kingdom of Norway.

The eruption may have been over now, and the fog had cleared, but the damage was done. Half a decade later, people were just now starting to return to their homeland, but it was barely a trickle. Recovery was a far-off dream for the Icelanders, both home and abroad.

None of this was of no real concern to Emil, however. He too was an Icelander, and would like to see his country back on its feet, but he had to be practical. His only hope right now was to make it from week to week, and maybe, one day, make it as an author.

Emil's musings on the state of the nation had distracted him, and before he knew it, he was at the coffee-shop for his morning shift. He knocked on the glass door, and a woman looked up from inside. She smiled broadly, and came to open the door.

"Hae Emil~" she breathed cheerfully as the door swung open. Emil smiled back at her.

"Hae Fríða," Emil greeted as he stepped inside. Fríða was a bubbly brunette in her 20s, a little older than Emil, with happy blue eyes and light freckles. Her smile was bright and always at the ready, and customers loved her for it. It wasn't even any effort for her; she just loved people. Fríða had gotten there earlier, and was already getting ready for the morning rush.

"I heard there was a bunch of tourists recently, so get ready," she chirped. Emil smiled agin and nodded. More people meant more tips, so she was extra cheery today. He slipped into the bathroom and changed into his work shirt, before helping Fríða with setting up.

The shift was just as Fríða had predicted, with more people than usual, and most of them foreigners. It was good to see; more tourism meant more money, and Emil had some record tips (most of the tourists thought they needed to, and he didn't bother correcting them). He played with the thought of buying something nice for himself with the extra cash. It was quickly filed into the back of his mind as he reached his next shift at a delivery place. This one wasn't quite as nice as the coffee-shop, but it payed better, so he did the work. The afternoon was some big international fast-food chain. It was soulless, but he worked hard, and it was over soon enough.

It was approaching evening as he clocked out of that job and headed towards the last one of the day. It was an evening shift at a small used bookstore in downtown Reykjavik. "Bjarni's books," it was called. The owner, Bjarni, was a kind soul, and had taken Emil under his wing; giving him a job, and even helping him get an apartment. He reached the store, a small nook of a building with a handmade sign over the door, and entered with the tingling of the bell on the door. A man with deep red hair and a thick beard looked up from where he was stoking books at the sound. He saw Emil standing in the door, and a broad white smile lit his face.

"Emil!" he greeted, standing up, to meet the younger man. Bjarni Björnsson was a mountain of a person, tall and broad. He strode over to Emil and clapped him on the shoulder. "It's good to see you. How was your day?"

"Good' had a bunch of tourists at the coffee shop, so I made some nice tips," Emil replied, buckling ever so slightly beneath the hand on his back. Bjarni nodded.

"Good, good. Well, got some new books in that need stocking, and the windows need cleaning as always, so your day's not done yet," he told Emil with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. Emil chuckled.

"I wouldn't have thought so," he replied. Bjarni grinned again, and gave Emil another clap on the back.

"I'll be at the front counter if you need anything. Now, off to work,"

Emil nodded again and headed to the back room. He decided to start with the windows in order to get the hardest work done first. He grabbed some cleaner and a roll of paper towels, and headed back to the front of the shop. The shop floor itself was small, with books crammed on ceiling height shelves that were secured at the top and bottom in case of an earthquake. It was like tiny labyrinth, and Emil loved it. Bjarni's shop specialized in fantasy, Emils personal favorite. During off times, he could just grab a small stack and get lost in the shelves and the stories. There was also a big window seat at the front that was also a reading prime spot. It looked out onto a picturesque street, and had mounds of soft pillows to lounge on. This window also accumulated dirt and smudges faster than could be wiped off, so Emil always had to work hard to get it clear again.

As he wiped away the day's mess, Emil looked out onto the street. Dusk was falling, but people were still out and about, milling too-and-fro. One trio on the other side of the street caught his attention.

They were three men. The first was tall, with blond hair cut in a straight line across his face and square framed glasses. He had a laptop case and a Bluetooth in his ear. Definitely the technical type. The second was shorter, with wavy brown shoulder length hair and a generally concerned air to him, as if he was always worried about something. The third wasn't so much a man as a child, much shorter than the other two with cropped blond hair. Poor kid looked like he was about to have a heart attack he was so nervous.

Emil dropped the cleaning supplies in his hands. Bjarni looked up, sensing something wrong.

A feeling of lightheadedness suddenly washed over Emil. He wavered, still staring at the trio as they walked down the street. They all seemed so familiar. So familiar…

Emil cried out in pain, clutching his head and crumpling off the seat and to the floor. It felt like his head was being split in two. It was sheer agony. Bjarni ran over and scooped him up. He was calling for him as loud as he could. But Emil couldn't hear it. All he felt was the pain in his skull. He managed to open his eye just a bit and stared at Bjarni's face and the ceiling beyond. Everything seemed to spin, and Emil felt himself begin to fall, straight into darkness.


	2. Chapter 2: Mornings and Memories

Author's Note: Alright, chapter two! I have a few days off from school, so I'm trying to knock as much out as possible.

This one's a bit short, but I think it stands on its own enough to be its own chapter.

Now we're getting into more of the foreshadowing we saw from the end of the last chapter. Also, swearing. We have officially started swearing.

Hope you enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

_It was a big annual conference. Emil sat at a table with about a hundred others, each from a different country. The german man was trying to get everyone to listen. Despite it being a conference, everyone was goofing off. There was chatter, shouting, even the occasional paper airplane across the room. Emil didn't pay attention, however. Even the small talk from the Irishman next to him faded into background noise. All he felt was heavy, sickening, dread. Something was going to happen. He didn't know what, but it was going to be bad. Very bad. Finally, the meeting was adjourned, and the activity began to move out of the room. Someone walked over. Emil looked up, squinting. It was the Frenchman, with wavy shoulder length hair and a stubbled chin. The man asked something. He was asking what was wrong. 'Nothing' Emil lied. The Frenchman looked unconvinced, but patted him on the shoulder, and hurried off the join someone else. When most everyone had left the room, Emil finally hauled himself up. He faltered. Cold foreboding chilled him to the bone. Soon..._

_Only a few people were left in the room. Emil started to make his way to the door, hoping against hope that he would make it to his room before whatever was going to happen happened. _

_He didn't even make it halfway there…_

Emil blinked his eyes open. He was on a bed in a small room, one he had never seen before. A single lamp illuminated the space, but it was still very dark. He had no idea what had happened or where he was. All he had was the impression of the strangest dream..

Emil sat up, groaning as his head throbbed in protest. Someone else in the room stirred, and he froze. There was a chair near the bed, and the person slumped in it snapped to attention.

"Emil!" Bjarni exclaimed. Emil's shoulders slumped in relief. It was just Bjarni. The older man practically lept to his feet, and rushed to the bedside. "Are you all right? Does your head hurt?" Emil looked at him.

"Wh-where am I?" he asked.

"You're in my place, above the shop. Do you feel okay? Do you need to go to the hospital?" Bjarni pushed.

"No, no, no,;just a headache," Emil assured him.

"It looked like more than a headache to me," Bjarni countered. Emil frowned at him.

"Well, whatever it was, it's gone now," he said, making to get up. "What time is it anyway?"

"Entirely too late for you to think about going home," Bjarni told him. Emil's frown turned to a scowl. "Listen, spend the night here, I'll get you to your job in the morning. After a fit like that, you don't need to be doing much more than what you need to."

Emil sighed. Bjarni had made up his mind, and once Bjarni made up his mind about something, there wasn't anything anyone could do to change it.

"You got a spare toothbrush or something?"

"Yep; washrooms first door down the hall," Bjarni motioned to the door. "Ill make you something to eat first, though." Emil looked up again at that.

"Wait, seriously, what time is it?" he asked again.

"Around… 3 or 4 in the mornin'," Bjarni answered after a brief pause. Emil's jaw dropped.

"Shit!" He almost shouted, " Bjarni, I gotta get ready for work!"

"Feel free to use the shower," Bjarni called over his shoulder. He had already left the room and was making his way down the hall. There was a hint of laughter in his voice. "So, you want your eggs scrambled or fried?"

"You're a son of a bitch sometimes, you know that?" Emil called as he hauled himself up.

"And yet, you still like me," Bjarni chuckled.


	3. Chapter 3: Forgetfulness

Author's Note: Twenty-Five+ views already you guys! Thank you all so much!

Anyway, here's chapter three already. We get to meet some more of Emil's coworkers, and learn some more about his past.

Maybe I'll actually add some canon characters eventually...

Hope you enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

Emil learned something new that day: Bjarni was a pretty good cook. For the first time since Emil could remember, he actually started his shift at the coffee-shop with a completely full stomach. Fríða was happy to see him in such high spirits, and predicted another busy day. She was right, of course. Fríða had an almost uncanny ability to tell whether or not there would be a lot of people, and Emil had learned long ago to trust her instinct.

Emil's good mood carried him right into his second shift, and he strolled into the back room whistling some old folk song he'd heard someplace. The only other person there was another young man, about the same age as him, with dark, dirty blond hair, stacking packages for the days deliveries. It was Emil's one and only co worker during this shift: a student named Eiríkur. The young man looked up at the sound of Emil's whistling.

"Hey, where were you last night?" Eiríkur asked. Emil stopped and looked at him, confused. "You didn't come home last night," Eiríkur continued. He suddenly gave Emil a knowing smirk. "Were you with a _girl_?" he asked, suggestively. Emil balked at the thought.

"**No!** And how do you even know I didn't come home last night?"

Eiríkur's eyebrows dropped and his smirk vanished. He stared at Emil for a long time. Emil began to shift beneath his gaze.

"I moved into the flat two floors beneath you three weeks ago, remember?" Eiríkur finally explained. Emil's jaw dropped, and he stared back at Eiríkur. That's right, Eiríkur _did_ move into his building a few weeks ago. And he had _completely_ forgotten._  
_

"Oh… ya," he murmured. Eiríkur then surprised Emil. Instead of being offended or indignant, the other man laughed.

"That's the, what… fourth time this week?" he asked between guffaws. Emil scowled at him.

"Third!" he corrected, defensively.

"Ya, ya, whatever, you still can't remember," Eiríkur's laughter died down to snickering, but it was still obvious how funny he found the whole thing. "But seriously, where _were _you?"

"Fainted at Bjarni's and spent the night there," Emil replied simply. It was Eiríkur's turn to look shocked.

"_Really_? Any reason why?"

"Don't know; just got a good awful headache and blacked out for a while," Emil explained as he grabbed the list of stops he had to make. He frowned. There were quite a few more than usual. he'd really have to hoof it to make it back in time for his next job. Eiríkur nodded and let the conversation drop, turniong his attention to his own list.

After a long silence, Eiríkur suddenly spoke up again; "Hey, I don't got as many today, want me to take some of yours?" he asked. "I know you got a job to get to after this."

"You would?" Emil asked, surprised. He wasn't sure if Eiríkur was serious.

"Sure! Here, lemme see you list," Eiríkur reached for the paper in Emil's hands. "Consider it a favor," he explained

Thanks to Eiríkur's random act of kindness, Emil was able to make it to his third job just in the nick of time. It wasn't eventful as per usual, and before he knew it he was back at Bjarni's. He entered the shop with the familiar tinckling of the bell, and Bjarni looked up from the counter.

"Hey, Emil; You feelin' alright?" he asked. Emil nodded

"Yep; that breakfast did wonders," he replied. Bjarni smiled at those words.

"I keep tellin' ya, you have to take care of yourself more" he insisted, looking Emil square in the eyes.

"I wish it was that simple," Emil explained. Bjarni nodded.

"I know," he said, sitting up with a sigh. "Anyway, I want you at the counter today. After your little fit last night I don't think you need to be doing anything harder than that," he explained as he got up. Emil nodded obediently, dropping his coat behind the wooden wall that hid the front counter. Though there really wasn't a counter so much as a cashier on a table and a gap in the wall where customers could put their books. But it worked just as well. "Oh, and by the way," Bjarni added. Emil looked up. "I found this for you. It's a book about what things were like before the eruption," Bjarni explained. Emil's face darkened ever so slightly.

"Thank you," he said stiffly, grabbing the book held out to him. Bjarni dipped his head, before turning to head into the back room. Emil just stared at the book. A sour pit formed in his stomach as he looked it over, and in a small fit of bitterness he banished it to a far flung corner of the desk.

Emil didn't remember anything before the eruption of Laki. Bjarni was the one who found him, passed out on the sidewalk. He had been covered in blood, and remembered nothing of who he was. The I.D. in the wallet in his pocket told him that his name was Emil Steinsson and he was 18 years old, but that was all. No family, no life, no nothing. Bjarni had become something of a caretaker to him, giving him a place to stay and helping him get on his own feet. But the subject of his amnesia was still a sore one, and Emil hated it whenever Bjarni brought it up.

He looked back over to the book and, and scowled at the back cover. He didn't want to read anything about that time, he didn't need too. It was long gone by now.

The evening passed rather quickly. About five people came into the store, and every one of them bought something. That was nice to see. Bjarni let Emil leave early that day, saying he'd close up the shop himself, and Emil made his way home. It was a fifteen or twenty minute walk to where he lived, and the sun was setting by the time he walked in the door. He gave the laptop a long hard look, but decided against it. He still had writer's block. Instead, he threw threw together a quick meal of whatever could be heated up in the microwave the fastest, ate, and got ready for bed. Tomorrow was Sunday, and Emil didn't regularly go to church, which meant he could sleep in and get laundry done.

With that on his mind, he slid into his futon, and wrapped himself in the blankets. He was asleep almost immediately.

_He was sitting on a hill. Beneath him was a valley mottled by the backs of sheep. The man with golden hair was there, this time wearing something more recent. They didn't speak, or smile, merely enjoyed the peaceful silence. The man suddenly reached up, and before he could duck away, ruffled his hair. He scowled at the man, but the man just smirked. That's how it usually was. Suddenly the man seemed to move farther away. He yelled, and scrambled forwards. The man fade into the distance. 'Don't go! Please don't go!' _


	4. Chapter 4: Neighbors and Shared Cereal

Author's Note: Ahhhh! Over fifty views _and _two reveiws! Thank you guys soo much!

I hope you guys liked Eiríkur, 'cause he's back!

Also, fore-shadowing by the bucket load. Maybe I'll get chapter 5 up and something will come of it.

Hope you enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

Emil didn't bother getting up until around 8, and when he did, he spent most of the morning mooching around on the futon eating some cheap cereal straight from the bag. That was how he spent most of his Sunday mornings, since he rarely wanted to spend the money on milk, and he didn't have much in the way of entertainment.

At a bought a quarter to nine, someone started knocking at the door. Emil jumped, startled out of his breakfast munching. When the knocking continued, the young man was forced to scramble for the nearest pair of sweat pants he could find and shove them on as fast as he could manage. He was still tying the drawstring when he checked through the peep-hole on his door. His coworker Eiríkur was at the door, grinning happily, and carrying about a quarter liter of milk and a couple bowls. Emil took one look, and immediately swung the door open.

"Godan Daginn," the student greeted. "Want some company?"

"I just spent the last half an hour eating cereal from a bag. Bring the milk, and we have a deal," Emil told him bluntly. Eiríkur's smile broadened, and Emil stepped aside to let his neighbor in.

"So, where do we sit?" Eiríkur asked as he strode in. He scanned the room, observing the furnishings - or lack thereof.

"The floor," Emil replied bluntly. Eiríkur gave him a look. "What? I keep it clean,"he defended. Eiríkur just shrugged.

"Whatever you say," he said, setting what he brought down on the coffee table. "Guess we'll just do it Japanese style." Emil cuffed him over the head as he retrieved the cereal, and Eiríkur looked up with a grin.

Emil settled down and they each poured the cereal and milk into the two bowls Eiríkur brought. The two men sat side by side, sharing the food and exchanging small talk. Weather, politics, the economy, and Eiríkur's internal dilemma over whether or not to grow a beard were all topics of conversation. It was general chit chat between neighbors, and Emil enjoyed it. It was one of life's simplest pleasures; and with Emil's hard life, it was all the more sweeter.

"So, didn't you tell me you were writing a book once?" Eiríkur asked, suddenly. Emil was caught off guard, and had to struggle to get down the mouthful of cereal he was eating.

"Ya, actually, I still am," he replied. Eiríkur raised his eyebrows, intrigued.

"How far are you on it?" he asked again. Emil took a moment to organize his thoughts.

"Almost at the climax. The big reveal, the plot twist; that's where I'm at. Problem is I've had writers block for a few days," Emil explained. Eiríkur nodded.

"That's okay, no one can go full speed all the time. And how many jobs do you have again?" he asked again.

"Four," Emil told him. Eiríkur whistled.

"So, anyway, whats this story about?" he asked. Emil grinned at him.

"I hope you have the rest of the morning," he warned.

"Do I look like I have something to do?" Eiríkur countered.

"Good point," Emil respond. "So, the story is set in this pretty cliche fantasy world. Knights, dragons, swords, dwarves, elves. The basic stuff. So the main character is some guy named Leifur. He's some nobody from a smaller cirty, and he is kinda forced on this epic adventure when he finds a magic crown that sticks itself to his head. The point of the adventure is to get it off his head and find out why its there in the first place."

Eiríkur was watching Emil with genuine interest. "So whats the big pull. It sounds pretty generic, and you said there was a twist," he urged.

"Well, I had this idea. I'm not sure where it came from, but I wanted to make something out of it," Emil began. He looked over to Eiríkur to make sure he was still interested, and the other man motioned for him to go on. "So the twist is this: the main character, Leifur, isn't a person. He's this personification, or, something, of an entire country. This crown was a plan by the other country-people-things to find the personification of this new country. And thats the part I'm stumped on: how to lead up to the big reveal." Eiríkur nodded when Emil had finished.

"It actually sounds pretty cool. I'll have to give it a read when it gets published," he said.

"Really?" Emil asked.

"Ya; hope you get over your writer's block soon," Eiríkur clapped Emil on the back.

"Thanks; I mean that too," Emil clapped Eiríkur back. The two sat there in comfortable silence as they downed the last of the cereal, which had started to turn dangerously soggy. Once that had been done, Eiríkur elected to clean the dishes despite Emil's protests. This left Emil with the chance to relax while his neighbor worked at the sink. As the young man mused on what to do about his story, something else popped back into his consciousness.

"Hey, Eiríkur," he called. Eiríkur looked up from the sink with an eyebrow quirked. "About that beard you talked about…"


	5. Chapter 5: Strange Encounters

Author's Note: Five chapters! I think we're getting close to the halfway point. Maybe. I don't know. I'm kind of making this up as I go.

Anyway, I must return to school and the land of responsibility, so this might be the last chapter for a little while. I hope its a good one. I think you'll at least start to see more of where the plot is going.

Hope you enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

Emil and Eiríkur ended up spending the rest of the morning hanging out; doing chores, making small talk, and just keeping each other company. Emil payed Eiríkur back for taking some of his stops by doing the laundry for both of them. Around noon, Eiríkur declared he was returning to his flat to study, leaving Emil to his own devices for the rest of the day. He had the day off today, so he went back to his own flat, sat down at his laptop, and started clicking away. His breakfast chat with Eiríkur had given him a burst of inspiration, and he found himself writing steadily until well into the afternoon. Satisfied with his progress, he shut down the old machine and decided to grab a bite to eat. There was a small restaurant down the street popular with students in the area, and he swung by there. The food was good and the prices rather cheap, so he liked it.

Once he was done with his meal, Emil returned to his flat and to his futon. He didn't really have much else to do that day, so he just closed his eyes and let himself space out, letting stories and plot lines pop into his head and swirl around. Before Emil knew it, he had drifted off and fallen asleep.

_It was a dark place. The man with golden hair was not there. Emil looked around. The shadows of people stood just out of his line of sight. He squinted at them, and he could just barely make out a few of the figures. The first was a tall man, with curly hair. He wore the armor of a Roman warrior. Emil could just barely see its gold glint in the inky shadows. Another man stood next to the Roman. His hair looked to be long and blonde, and a cloak was wrapped about his shoulders. Emil turned. He could begin to see others. Tall short, male, female, young and old. He started to see faces. There was a man with a headdress of feathers gold and turquoise. Another with rich robes of silk. There were children with matted hair and ragged clothes. Clothing from all ages of history, from all corners of the world, and some Emil didn't even recognize. And all were smiling. The darkness was not scary, or dangerous. It was warm, peaceful, inviting even. Emil took a step towards the people gathered around him. They backed away. He stood there, confused. A child stepped forward. It was a boy, with the bluest eyes Emil had ever seen. His hair was ash-blonde and tousled. He looked so much like Emil was uncanny. The child spoke in a language Emil didn't recognize, but somehow understood. 'Not yet,' he told Emil. 'Not yet.'_

Emil snapped awake with a jolt. He was drenched in cold sweat, his heart was pounding, and his head rang. He couldn't remember what he had dreamed about, only that it wasn't the usual vision. He looked to the clock, squinting his eyes to make it out in the darkness. It was around midnight. Emil scowled, and hauled himself up. He was chilled, soaked, and in desperate need of a shower. He tossed his sweaty clothes into the corner to restart his pile, and waited impatiently in his boxer shorts for the shower to warm up. After what seemed to be entirely too long, it did, and Emil was able to get in, get out, and change into a clean shirt and shorts in only a few minutes. Refreshed and exhausted, he returned to the futon . He flopped down with an aggravated sigh and barely bothered to get back into the blankets. He was back to sleep soon enough, and spent the rest of the night unplagued by any more strange dreams.

Emil woke up the next morning groggy and all but brain dead. He went about his morning routine - sans shower - like a robot and headed out for the day. He made small talk with Fríða at the coffee shop, swapped banter with Eiríkur before going out on his route, put in his time at the fast-food joint, and dropped himself at Bjarni's door with the familiar tiredness of the end of every Monday. He entered, bell tinkling, and looked around for his red haired boss. He didn't see him, but stepped inside anyway. The was a sudden exclamation from the back of the store, and Bjarni stumbled out. He looked up, saw Emil in the doorway, and his face burst into a full grin.

"Emil!" he exclaimed. "How are you?"

"Good, and you?" Emil replied politely as he shrugged off his coat.

"Good as always," Bjarni said, straightening up. "It was a slow day, so I got most everything done already. You can just go ahead and read until I figure out somethin' for you to do," he motioned to the stacks behind him. Emil felt relief wash over him, and smiled gratefully, thanking him before slipping into the stacks. He managed to accumulate a small horde of books, and hunkered down in one of the more abandoned corners of the store. It was dark, it was dusty, and it was unused; just the way Emil liked.

He had gotten lost in an old sci-fi - probably Isaac Asimov or something, he was too lazy to check - when he heard the door bell tinkle. He ignored it, and kept reading as a young woman's bubbly voice filled the shop. She was talking in some foreign language, probably dutch. She greeted Bjarni, and, from the way her voice moved through the store, stepped into the shelves. Emil continued to ignore it, still focused on his book. The voice seemed to get closer and closer as it moved through the books, but he kept on reading. Eventually, it seemed to end up right next to him. Still, he didn't look up.

The happy chattering died suddenly, cut of by a shocked gasp. Emil snapped his head up at the sound.

Before him was a woman, with shoulder length blonde hair and a red ribbon tied about her head. The color of her eyes struck Emil; they were the warmest and purest green he had ever seen. Behind her was a man almost as tall as the ceiling whom Emil hadn't heard. His blonde hair was gelled straight up, and there was a scar above his right eye. His eyes were green as well, and the pair looked like siblings.

Emil didn't dwell on their relationship for too long, however. He was too busy wondering why both of them were gawking at him. Their eyes were wide and faces drained of color. They were expressions of shock, confusion, and almost of fear. Emil stared back, confused by what could have been freaking them out so much. After a few moments, the woman started to stammer nervously and tried to back away. She kept running into her companion, but he eventually got the hint and they both left as fast as they could through the narrow space. Emil heard the bell sound, indicating their departure.

Emil abandoned his little book nest, and crept to the front of the shop. Bjarni was behind the counter, looking around in confusion. He looked up as Emil appeared from the stacks.

"Do I look… weird today?" Emil asked hesitantly. Bjarni looked at him, eyebrows furrowing.

"No… not any different from usual," Bjarni told him. Emil frowned. Why did those to look so, almost… horrified to see him. It was like they were looking at a ghost...

"Those two, they just saw me, and… I don't know. I must have scared them or something," Emil explained. Bjarni frowned as well.

"I don't see why you would have," Bjarni told him. Both men sat in silence for a moment, trying to figure out what had happened. Eventually, they both decided it must have been some sort of freak thing. Even so, Bjarni still sent Emil to the back room until the end of his shift with orders to start organizing the mess. This was more an excuse to have Emil do something than actual task. One does not simply organize the back room of Bjarni's Books.

As he made his way back home in the evening air, Emil's mind drifted back to the strange duo in the bookstore. He wrote it off as just regular tourist weirdness, and had all but forgotten the encounter by the time he reached his flat. He unlocked the door, stepped inside, and sighed heavily. His gaze drifted over to the laptop, and he opted not to work on his book that night. He had made amazing progress yesterday, and he was tired. He scrounged together some dinner, got ready for bed, and hit the hay, hoping not to have to deal with another midnight wake up.


	6. Chapter 6: Uncertainty

Author's Note: I should be doing homework. I should really be doing homework. But I'm not.

In other news: **100+** views you guys! Also, to my lovely reviewers: thank you sooo much! You guys are making me not want to stop writing, homework or not.

Well, hope you enjoy!

-Erin

(And a fair warning: Later chapters might cause a rating increase as the level and severity of certain language increases. In the mean time, I'll try and keep it low)

* * *

_He looked around. He was in a dark deep forest, encircled by towering birch and aspen. Someone walked into view. He looked up from where he was sitting on the leaf litter. It was the man. He stared, confused and intrigued. The man seemed shocked to see him, but walked over. The man leaned down to look at him. He looked up at this stranger. The man smiled, or he thought the man smiled, and a hand ruffled his hair. The man said something, but he couldn't make it out. Suddenly, he seemed to fall down into darkness, and the man's image faded. He screamed, and reached out. 'Don't go! Please, don't go!"_

Emil blinked his eyes open, squinting against the light filtering in from the window above him. He stretched against the blankets, and yawned. He stared up at the clock on the far wall. He had time to take a shower and then he'd have to haul ass out the door to make it to work. He groaned, but got up anyways, and dragged himself to the washroom. About ten minutes later, he was ready, and dragged himself out the door, down the stairs, and out to the street.

When he got to the coffee shop, Emil did a double take. And a triple take. And a quadruple take.

There was a sign taped to the door, from the owner, saying a family emergency had come up. It read that the shop would be closed for a week or so, and apologized for any inconvenience . Emil stared at it in shocked disbelief for a long moment, and then scowled deeply.

"...Fuck…" Emil hissed. He turned on his heel and stalked away from the store. This was just great. He was out of a job for at least a week. He didn't want to have o find another one again... He huffed, and headed in a random direction. He wondered what to do now.

Figuring he had nothing better to do until his next job started, Emil meandered around the city. He wandered aimlessly from street to street, not going anywhere. He found a little thrift store he hadn't found before, and dedicated it's address to memory. They had a nice table set for really cheap. Maybe ,once the coffee shop started back up, he could finally stop eating on the floor…

After grabbing a snack that he stuffed in a pocket for lunch later, Emil made his way back towards the delivery company. He reached it a few minutes early and loitered around in the back room, waiting for Eiríkur to show up. Said neighbor narrowly avoided being late, and he and burst in the door, huffing like he had ran the whole way there.

"Mor...ning...E...mil," he panted, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees.

"Morning," Emil replied. That was about the extent of their conversation, as the manager soon came in, and Emil had to head out, leaving Eiríkur to recover his breath.

He didn't see Eiríkur until he clocked out, but the student hurried off to parts unknown before Emil could ask him what happened earlier. With the question still weighing on his mind, he trudged through the fast food shift; and before he knew it , Emil was at Bjarni's once again.

Emil stepped inside and looked around for his boss. When he didn't see or hear Bjarni, he simply wrote it off. Bjarni must have been in the back room, or maybe even upstairs in the flat above the shop. Emil sat down behind the counter and leaned back in the chair there, waiting for Bjarni to show himself and give Emil something to do.

Several minutes later, and Bjarni hadn't appeared. Emil was starting to grow concerned now. He was about to get up and look for the man, when suddenly the bell sounded. Emil looked up, sharply. No one entered, but a man was poking his head into the shop. He looked around, as if checking to see if anyone was inside. He didn't see Emil, and the young man got a bad feeling about this. He slid down, and peeked from the book gap watching the stranger. The man had short , spiky blond hair that stuck out at odd angles. He had green eyes that scanned the book store., and the largest, bushiest eyebrows Emil had ever seen in his life.

The man made one more sweep of the store and scowled.

"No one's not here," he hissed. He was speaking in English and Emil could barely make out what he was saying through the thick English accent

"Belgique said she saw someone that looked just like 'im 'ere yesterday!" Someone hissed from behind the Brit. It was a man whose accent was thicker and very French. Emil couldn't even tell what he said.

"And why do we have to check it out again?" The Brit asked his unseen companion, obviously irritated.

"_Because_ you know what evr'yone said about the evacuees. Maybe 'e's still 'ere!" The Frenchman replied.

"I just said no one's here!" The Brit spat

"Not 'ere at the store!" The Frenchman spat back, also miffed. "I meant 'ere with us. _Alive_!" The Brit rolled his eyes.

"Haven't we already discussed this? You know as a well as I do that even the chance of him coming back as a huma-'" The Brit began. His voice cut off suddenly, and he froze in place.

"What? What is it? Qu'est-ce que ce?" The Frenchman asked urgently.

"There's someone behind the counter," the Brit muttered, too low for Emil to hear.

"Comment?" The Frenchman asked. Another blond head poked in from behind the Brit, and looked around. This one had wavy shoulder length hair and blue eyes, and a slightly stubbled chin. He didn't see Emil crouching behind the counter.

"I said, _there's someone behind the counter_," the Brit hissed again.

"I don't see anyone!" The Frenchman complained.

"Look in the gap," the Brit hissed. Emil heard the last part, and knew he had been spotted. Slowly, he rose up from behind the counter, and stared down the two foreigners from behind the counter.

Both of the mens' jaws dropped open. They both stared at him in complete and utter shock.

"_O Mon Dieu,_" the Frenchman breathed.

"Oh My God!" the Brit exclaimed, a bit louder.

The three looked at each other from across the store. After a long pause the two men finally straightened up and stepped inside, letting the door shut behind them. The looked unnerved by Emil, and looked anywhere but at him. They seemed to back away almost unconsciously.

"Hello," the Brit greeted, putting on an air of confidence. Emil just narrowed his eyes. These two gave him a bad feeling.

"We're looking for a young man named… _shit what was the name again_?" he quickly whispered to the Frenchman.

"_Emil, I think. Emil Steinsson_," the Frenchman whispered back. Emil couldn't tell what they were saying, and it only made him all the more suspicious. The Brit turned back to him.

"A young man named Emil Steinsson," the Brit finally got out. He was obviously put off by Emil, and kept his distance. But the words still sent off almost every warning bell in Emil's head.

"That is my name," Emil told them coldly. This only seemed to make the duo more freaked out.

"Well, if that's the case, then, well, we'd like to talk to you," the Brit continued. That set off the rest of them.

"I believe you are looking for a different Emil," Emil told them. They looked at each other, put off by his tone of voice.

"Well, the Emil that we're looking for also happens to match your description," the Brit insisted. Emil glared at the two.

"Then what do you wish to talk to me about?" Emil asked. The duo looked each other again.

"We'd… rather not talk about here. Would you mind coming with us to somewhere more… private?" the Brit asked hesitantly. That put Emil over the edge.

"I'm on the clock. If you want to talk, we talk _here_," Emil told them. His voice dropped dangerously low towards the end, and the two backed against the far wall.

"Then can we talk when you get off work?" the Brit asked again, starting to get a little more nervous.

"_**No**_," Emil growled, his temper flaring. The two men jumped. "Now get _**Out**__."_

The two obliged and all but bolted out the door. The Frenchman, however, turned to Emil before he left, and gave him one last long look. As he met the other man's eyes, Emil felt a cold chill trickle down his spine. There was a hint of fear there, but there was also something else. More than fear, there was.. pity. Pity, and almost... sorrow, even. Before Emil could figure out what the look was about, the Frenchman turned back, hurrying out the door and after the Brit. Emil slipped from behind the window and looked out, watchin them as they headed down the street.

Emil heard thumping from the back room, and Bjarni finally appeared from the stacks. He looked over at Emil, and, noting the younger man's disturbed look, frowned.

"Did something happen, Emil?" he asked, concern etching his features.

"Nothing, just tired is all," Emil lied, turning from the window. Bjarni looked unconvinced.

"Are you sure there's nothing wrong?" he pressed.

Emil nodded and wiped his face. Was his hand shaking?

"Ya, nothing at all."


	7. Chapter 7: Highs and Lows

Author's Note: I ended up not having _nearly_ as much homework as I expected (big history project), so I decided to leave you guys with this little goody~

This somehow went from 800 to 1,300+ words. Oh, the power of editing...

Anyhow, I hope you enjoy!

-Erin

(btw, to any Icelandic viewers (and I know there's at least one of you!): _please_ point anything I'm showing or describing wrong, or even just drop a helpful suggestion that'll make this fanfic more accurate. You're input would be _greatly_ appreciated!)

* * *

With the strange incident in the bookstore still weighing on his mind, Emil bid Bjarni good night, and headed home. As he walked, his thoughts kept drifting back to the look the Frenchman gave him. It was almost look the stranger was sorry for him, and it unnerved Emil to no end. It was almost as if the guy knew him..

A sharp pain erupted in the side of Emil's skull. He stumbled, and swore as he clutched his head. It faded after only a moment, and he stood there. He brushed it off when it didn't appear to be anything serious, and he continued on his way.

He reached his building and ascended the four flights of stairs to his flat. He still going over what happened at the bookstore as he reached his own door. Frustrated, he almost slammed the door shut, and flopped down on the futon. Today was simply not his day, and he was ready to end it. He didn't even want to bother with dinner, he was so ready to go to sleep. In the end, Emil was in bed and fast asleep before the sun had even set.

For once, Emil was not greeted with a vision of the blond stranger from his dreams, and he didn't bother to wake up At the usual early hour. He had no job to go to, so what was the point. Even as he thought it, the fact left a sour taste in his mouth. If he wasn't careful, Emil would have to get a new job, and he didn't want that. He liked his job at the coffee shop. He liked walking in to the smell of the fresh grounds in the morning, and getting to watch people while he wasn't busy. He liked talking with Fríða and the baristas. The tips from unknowing foreigners certainly didn't hurt, either.

Emil sighed heavily. He had had days like this before, and they always sucked. Now rather depressed, he dragged himself out of bed to sit in front of the coffee table. His laptop was off to one side, and he stared at it. He slowly slid it over to himself and flipped open the lid. He opened his novel, and stared at it. He was reaching the end of the book. He might even finish it soon.

It was on odd feeling. He had been working on this project for almost a couple years now, and the thought that he could finally send it off to an editor was almost exhilarating. He even smiled in spite of his sour mood. Maybe he could actually start thinking about a sequel…

Not feeling particularly inspired to work on it, Emil hauled himself up off the floor. Maybe he'd go and visit Eiríkur or something. The idea was quickly vetoed, however. Something must have happened to keep the student busy yesterday, and Emil didn't want to interrupt and possibly make him late. Instead, he decided to go for yet another walk. He had the free time now, and he might as well do something at least vaguely productive with it.

The wind coming off the ocean was particularly cold that morning, and Emil had to wrap up in an extra jacket and scarf. He didn't bother with a hat, though. He disliked them, especially how they seemed to muffle everything.

The day was wonderfully crisp and clear. Very few clouds trailed in the azure sky, and the sun lit up the old city. Emil decided to take a detour into an area of Reykjavik he didn't visit very often. It was one of the more colorful neighborhoods, with some nice shops and bright, cheery buildings; even with the economic hardships.

As Emil walked through the streets, he was surprised with the energy of the place. There were more people than he had seen last time he was there -or even at any time, for that matter. As he walked and listened to the buzz around him, the thing that amazed Emil the most was how many of these voices he heard were speaking in Icelandic. The thought that all these people might have come back from somewhere else brought a feeling of happiness that he had never felt before. Maybe, just maybe, things were finally starting to look up for Iceland...

At that moment, something very strange happened. A heat like red hot flames burst in his chest, and it felt like he was floating up into the air. He saw everything around him almost as if through an overexposed photograph, like it was lit by an otherworldly light. He turned in a slow circle, looking at every face he could. Then, another strange thing occurred to him. It was like he _knew_ these people. Each and every one. Something old and familiar stirred in his core, and he stood, awed by the sheer ecstasy of this new feeling. The energy he felt in him, from each and every one of his people...

It almost brought tears to his eyes.

Emil stumbled, crashing back to reality. He braced himself against a nearby wall, and listened to his heart pounding in his ears. What the hell was that? He didn't know these people. He didn't know any one here! And they certainly weren't _his_ by any stretch of the imagination. He shivered violently. The heat inside him had vanished, and as he stood there, a feeling of cold and emptiness settled in him.

Shaking his head and gathering his bearings, Emil kept walking. He was on the edge of a small square, with a few quaint shops around the edge. Emil ignored them and their temptation, and pressed onward across the open space. He focused on the ground as he walked, not wanting to look at anyone after that weird experience.

On the other side, Emil found a small alley; a rare sight in this city. In a split second decision, he decided to take a short cut through it, in order to avoid dealing with anyone else.

As he entered the shade cast by the buildings, he tried to forget his strange feeling, and he let his thoughts drift away. They settled on his story, and a smile crossed his face as he mused. He was especially proud of the plot twist at the climax. The shock of the main character as his true heritage is finally revealed? Absolute perfection, in Emil's mind.

He was so lost in his thoughts, that he didn't hear the two people following just behind him. It wasn't until a sickly sweet stench reached his nose that he actually realized something was wrong.

Emil tried to whirl around, but he was grabbed and from behind and held in an iron grip. A soaked rag was forced against his face as he gasped in sweet smell of the liquid was overwhelming, and his mind began to spin with panic. He fought against the people holding him, but his limbs started to fail him. Too late, he realized what had happened, and in a last ditch effort to save himself, tried to hold his breath.

As the last bits of consciousness abandoned him, Emil was left with one, final thought resounding in his mind:

_Oh my god, I'm being **kidnapped**_


	8. Chapter 8: Revelations

Author's Note: Sorry about the cliff hanger in the last chapter. As compensation: here's it is! The _big_ one!

Also: 300+ views hoolyyyyy craaaaaap! Thank you guys _so much_! Especially all my fabulous reviewers. I may not respond, but do know that I read each and every one and appreciate all of them!

Anyhow, I might take a little break. I only really got this one out so fast to apologize for that god awful cliffhanger. That one was kinda cruel (_buteffective!_)

Of course, I might also not take a break. Who knows!

Hope you all enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

The first thing Emil felt when he woke up after being grabbed in the alley was how absolutely _awful_ he felt. His limbs were heavy, his mind was fogged, everything seemed to spin, and he could barely keep his eyes open.

After what seemed like an eternity of trying not to pass back out or throw up, he regained something vaguely resembling consciousness, and tried to figure out what the hell had happened.

Emil shifted around. He was lying on something soft, maybe a couch or a bed, and a thin blanket had been tucked over him. Disgusted by this apparent act of kindness, he threw it on the ground as hard as he could - which wasn't very hard, since he could barely move his arms. He groaned, and wiped his eyes before looking around at wherever he was being held.

The first thing that hit him about the room was its sheer size. It was _big_. The walls soared six meters into the air, and the room itself was almost three times as long. The second thing Emil noticed was the sheer opulence. The ceiling was vaulted with ornate gold trim, and windows that reached almost the top of the room lined one wall. The floors were an intricately knotted parquet, and the walls were papered in deep red fabric. The furnishings were lavish as well. Tables with mindbogglingly detailed wood carvings, porcelain vases that were probably older than a few counties, rich velvet cushions, and even candle holders that might have been solid silver. Emil himself was on a massive couch that probably cost more than all the money he had ever had in his lifetime. It was big, it was grand, and it made him all the more confused.

He stared at the space, brows furrowed and mind whirring. Why was he here? Who had taken him? Judging by the room they kept him in, they must have been wealthier than Emil could ever imagine.

It was then that something else occurred to him. This was not the kind of place you found in Reykjavik; or at least, as far as Emil knew. There was something decidedly not-Icelandic about the room. Emil felt his curiosity peak in spite of the situation. He forced himself into a sitting position, and swung his legs off of the couch. His bare feet hit a soft rug, and his tows sank into the fibers. Someone had taken his shoes. And his jacket. And his wallet. He had nothing but the clothes on his back. Trying and only partially succeeding to force down a surge of panic, Emil stood, and half stumbled, half crawled to the windows. He pressed himself to the glass, supporting himself on the panes, and stared at the outside world.

He was in a city. A large one, and probably very old. With cobbled streets, ancient buildings, and people running about by the thousands. There were shops, cafes, street vendors, and artisans. It was so happy and alive. Tearing his gaze away from the street below, he looked up and out at the skyline. As he stared, a cold, creeping horror spread though his body. This city had skyscrapers. Big ones. They shone with glass and steel, far above the rest of the buildings. Emil's eyes widened. No city in Iceland had skyscrapers like this. One or two, maybe, but they'd be small. Nothing like this. This couldn't have possibly been his country.

That thought sent Emil right over the edge.

He whirled around, almost falling over in his panic. His mind clouded with fear, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He shook with terror, and his eyes darted around, looking for any escape from this cursed place. He looked too the only door in the room, and froze right there.

There were a little over a dozen people clustered behind the couch where Emil had woken up. They all stood a good distance away, unease hanging between them like a heavy fog. Most of them were pale as sheets, with eyes wide in shock. A few had their mouths hanging open. They all stared at him in seeming disbelief. Emil stared back, trying to think through the panic. He realized with a shock that he recognized some of them. There was the girl with green eyes and the man with the scar that he had seemed so scared of him a few days ago. There was the Brit and the Frenchman who had tried to talk to him just yesterday. He even recognized two of the men he had seen across the street before passing out at Bjarni's.

Emil's knees began to buckle as he stared at the group. He knew these people had something to do with the alley, he just knew it.

The Brit stepped forward hesitantly, but the look of absolute terror Emil had on his face stopped the man.

After a long moment in which no one dared to so much as twitch, Emil finally spoke up.

"Who are you? Where am I?" he asked. His voice was small and shaky. Even so, several of the people gasped as he spoke. A few looked at each other, astonishment in their eyes. The Brit stepped forward again.

"Listen," the Brit said, trying to project an air of calm. He was apparently the spokesman for the group. "We'll explain everything as best as we can, but you need to calm down."

"_I am not going to calm down_," Emil hissed, with more angrily than he intended. Panic was starting to get the better of him. A few of the people jumped at venom in his voice. "I have been kidnapped and dragged to who-knows-where. If you think I am going to listen to you, then you are _crazy_."

The Brit seemed a bit taken aback by this.

"Please, we don't want to hurt yo-"

"You grabbed me in an alley and shoved _chloroform_ in my face!" Emil almost shouted. "_Now tell me where I am_!"

The Brit looked startled, and he stepped back. Trying to recover himself, and opened his mouth to say something. At that moment, however, the woman with green eyes stepped forward.

"You are in Brussels," she told Emil in small voice. Just as soon as she said this, she stepped, and returned to the side of her taller companion. Emil just stared at her in utter shock.

He had heard of Brussels, the so-called "Capitol of Europe". If he was in Brussels, then that meant only one thing…

"_Oh God_," Emil breathed in Icelandic. His heart felt like it had stopped beating, and his stomach. The world seem to pitch and sway like a boat, and Emil almost felt as if he was going to throw up. "_Oh God, Oh God, Oh God_…" He slumped against the wall and slid down. The people behind the couch didn't quite seem to know what to do about his reaction. They looked at each other, seemingly asking what to do.

As if without thinking, one man stepped forward. He was tall and broad in the shoulder, with his hair slicked back, and bright blue eyes.

"Listen," He said in deep voice that was muddled by a thick German accent. "Iceland, I now this may seem-." He cut off midway through his sentence. Emil snapped his head up at the man's words. The others in the group stiffened. They fixed the German with a horrified stare, like he had said something utterly unspeakable.

There was a long, unbroken silence. The group glanced at one another, unsure. Emil eventually spoke up.

"Did you just call me… Iceland?" He asked, confused. The people turned to each other, like they were trying to figure out what to do now, waiting for someone too take the lead. No one answered Emil for a long time.

Finally, a man with straight pale blond hair and intense green eyes stepped forward. He fixed Emil with an unwavering stare. Emil looked up at him. Unlike the others, this man showed no sign of anxiety. He spoke, his Swiss accent ringing out.

"We brought you here because you are like us," he said firmly. " Because you, are the physical personification of a human nation."

One could hear a pin drop at that moment.

The words didn't register in Emil's mind. They rolled around in his skull, muddled by confusion and lingering panic. He stared at the Swiss, trying to wrap his head against the meaning of what the man had said.

Emil's brows furrowed. Was this guy actually saying..?

"You, are the human embodiment of Iceland," He told Emil.

With those few words, the full gravity of the situation finally hit him. Emil's jaw dropped open, and he stared at the group. He looked each and every person in the room with him in the eyes, trying to see if this was some cruel joke.

No one was laughing.

Emil's shoulders slumped beneath a weight like a brick wall. He stared up at the ceiling, at the gilded trim, and then back at the people on the other side of the room.

"Oh my god," he eventually said, voice low and wavering. He had finally figured out what was going on.

"You people are completely_ insane_."


	9. Chapter 9: Frustration and Food

Author's Note: Oh good sweet lord of Friddle Diddle, this last week was **awful**.

I'm not going to elaborate, but let me tell you, I am _so_ glad it is finally over!

In other news: I am **SO** sorry about the sudden hiatus. School work was killing me, and I had no time or energy to spend on this fanfic.

Anyway, this next chapter is done! And I would officially like to celebrate 500+ views. Gosh, you guys are epic!

I hope this chapter will be enough for now, and I will make haste on the next one!

Hope you enjoy

-Erin

* * *

Once Emil realized that the people who had kidnapped him were completely insane, the young man did everything in his power to try and escape.

He had watched the strangers from the other side of the room. Observing, studying, waiting. They muttered amongst themselves, sending a concerned glance his way every so often. Eventually, the Brit stepped forward and declared that they were going to take Emil to his room, and if he'd please come along politely.

There was no way in hell Emil was going to do that.

He bolted for the door. Several of the people recoiled in surprise, while others tried to grab him. He dodged out of their reach. Emil darted around the room, this way and that, trying to keep as much distance between him and these madmen as he could. They obviously didn't expect such harsh resistance, and he was almost able to get to the door, and freedom.

Just as it seemed he was about to make it, however, the German lept out of seemingly nowhere, pinning Emil to the ground in a tackle. Emil kicked screamed for the man to get off of him, but it was no use. The man's grip was as strong as iron. He yanked Emil to his feet and twisted the young man's arm behind his back. Emil yelped, stopped struggling. The people all stared at each other, wide eyed. The German grumbled something that Emil couldn't quite understand, and marched Emil out of the room.

They kept marching through the building until they reached a plain, wooden door. Emil was thrown rather roughly through it, and into different, smaller room. He hit the ground with an oomph, and rolled back to look at his captor. He sat up just as the door was slammed shut. There was a rustling from the other side, and something clicked.

Cold dread settled in Emil's stomach as he realized what had happened. He bolted to his feet and threw himself at the door. He clutched at the handle, trying to open it. It was locked. Emil swore loudly, and tried to yank the door open, lock be damned. When that proved futile, he slammed his shoulder against the wood. It held firm. After a few more attempts, he sat back down on the floor, and stared at the locked door.

In that moment, the panic running through Emil's system changed. In its place was anger; pure, fiery, anger. His face twisted into a mask of rage, and he lunged at the door. He pounded on the wood, screaming at anyone who might have been on the other side. He raved and swore, doing all in his power to break it down.

After a few minutes, Emil slumped back down to the ground. He was out of breath, and his throat was raw from the yelling. He glared at the door. Aside from a few scratch marks and some scuffing, it looked completely undamaged.

Realizing it was a futile effort, Emil gave up trying to break it down. He laid back on the floor, chest heaving. He scanned at the room he was trapped in, taking everything in.

It was a bedroom, not nearly as luxurious as the place he had woken up in. It was square and sparsely furnished. The walls were still red, but it was a lighter shade and the floor had been replaced with a deep colored carpet. There was a queen size bed to to Emil's right; a four poster with a canopy, and deep red covers to match the walls and drapes. There was a dresser on the far wall beneath a window of solid glass -no escape there. A door to a full bath was on his left.

It was actually a rather nice room, but at that moment, Emil hated it with every fiber of his being. Scowling, he crept into a corner. He curled up, knees to his chest, huddled like a frightened animal. He fixed the locked door across from him with a dark stare, waiting for someone to come in.

When no one arrived, and the light outside had dimmed, Emil finally let his gaze drift once more. With a shock, he realized someone had put his missing clothes on the bed. His boots stood by the bed side, and everything was folded neatly. Confused, and more than a little disturbed, he slipped over and investigated. His wallet was there, and everything was still inside it. Nothing was taken from his pockets. Even a piece of gum that must've been a week or more old was still intact. More confused than ever, Emil slipped the jacket on, and stood. He poked around the room, seeing if he could find anything else. He opened the dresser, and looked inside. There were some clothes in there. They had been there for a while, judging by the dust and musty odor. He pulled one piece out, a simple shirt. With a chill, he realized that it was his size. Upon further investigation, everything turned out to be just his size. That only served to disturb him even more.

He circled the room a couple times, and then returned to his corner. He didn't want to use the bed. He was still angry. Angry at these people who called themselves nations, angry at what they had done to him, angry at that damned door, and angry at everything in this room.

He stayed curled in that corner for who knows how long. His eyelids drooped, and he zoned out. But he refused to sleep. He couldn't let himself sleep, not here. He might miss a chance to escape.

No matter how hard Emil resisted, however, exhaustion still seeped into his limbs and fogged his mind. He started dozing off. Before he could stop himself, Emil was fast asleep.

_This was wrong. This was all wrong. The man isn't here. Emil looked around, trying to find him. He was in a strange place. It was a forest, but not one like Emil had ever seen. Spruce trees closed in on him, and the floor around him was unnaturally dark. It was cold, and the sun, or that which Emil could see of it, was low on the horizon. Emil started to panic. It would soon be night. He spun around, searching for the man that every fiber of his being said should be here. Panic rising in his chest, Emil started running, not sure where to. The forest closed in around him, like a great beast ready to devour him. He had to find the man. He was Emil's only chance... Finally, he burst from the tree line and into a field. A sun set high in the sky shone down on him, and he squinted. This wasn't like the forest. It was bright and warm. Soft grass dotted with tiny wildflowers led up to a small, quaint house. It was kind, inviting even. He looked around, and froze. In the middle of the field stood the golden haired man. His back was to Emil, and he seemed to be bathed in light. Emil slumped his shoulders in relief. He ran up to the man, reaching out to touch him. As he did so, however, he began to feel himself fall. Darkness closed in around him once again, and he tumbled into an abyss. He tried to yell, but no sound came out. He heard another voice yelling for him from somewhere far away. He could barely hear it. As it faded, all Emil could make out was one word: _

"_**Island**!"_

Emil awoke with a jolt. Pale dawn sunlight was filtering in to the room, blinding his tired eyes. He groaned deeply.

He had fallen asleep in the corner.

Slowly, he unfolded himself from the position. Everything felt sore and cramped, and he was somehow more exhausted then than he was when he went to sleep. He blinked his eyes, staring at the room in the new light. With another groan, he hauled himself to his feet, and slumped into the washroom. God, Emil hated this room.

Still refusing to make use of the bed, Emil stretched himself out on the floor, and stared at the ceiling. Mind still foggy, he went over what the Swiss had told him when he had woken up. He was Iceland, the actual nation of Iceland.

Just then, something hit Emil. His situation was exactly the same as the main character in his book.

He frowned. That was a strange coincidence, and one that was more than a little suspicious.

What he did know, however, was that there was no why what those people were saying could be true. Things like that simply don't happen in real life. They were probably some weird cult that had convinced themselves they were countries in human form. He scoffed at the idea again. It was completely crazy.

He spent the morning staring at the ceiling, mulling over everything that had happened. Bjarni was probably wondering what had happened to him. And Eirikur, and Frida.

The lock on the door click. Emil bolted straight up and turned to face the door. A blond head of straight hair and staring green eyes peaked in. It was a young man, or at least Emil thought.

"Hey," he asked. He was from somewhere in Eastern europe, but beyond that, Emil couldn't tell. "Do you, like, want some food or something?" He sounded completely unsure of himself, and Emil's icy glare made him shrink down so that only his eyes showed from behind the door.

"What is there?" he asked, dangerously.

"Uhhh…" the man trailed off. Emil scowled.

"Anything you, like, want, really," the man finally answered, his voice seeming to go up a bit.

"I'll pass," Emil told him. The man blinked, taken off guard.

"Are you , like, sure?" the man asked, meekly.

"Yes," Emil said, voice lowering. At his tone, the man retreated behind the door. It shut, and the lock clicked back into place.

Emil glowered at the door. He probably should have eaten something, but his anger soured his appetite.

The day passed with more laying on the floor, pacing, and just general irritation. A few more of those nutcases stuck their heads in to ask if he was alright, or if he was hungry, and each received the same, cold response. By the time the sun had dipped far in the sky, he was exhausted, starving, and pissed off. He was playing with the idea of trying to force the door open again as he sat in his corner.

The lock clicked, and Emil narrowed his eyes. Which "nation" was going to try and talk to him this time?

He was not, however, prepared for what happened next.

The door flung open, smashing and ricocheting off the wall. Emil jumped , startled. A man's boot was stuck out into the doorway. It slammed down on the floor, and Emil stared up at it's owner

It was a man, tall, with platinum blonde hair cropped short and sticking out. His eyes were almost red, and stared down at Emil, as if daring the younger man to snap at him. He wore a determined face, and there was a tray loaded with food in his hands. A few other people were clustered around the door, anxiously staring into the room.

"I heard you were trying to go on a little hunger strike," The man declared. His voice was loud and sharp, carrying a thick German accent. "Well, I'm here to make sure that doesn't happen!" The man strode over to Emil. "Now, you're going to stuff as much of this into your mouth as you physically can, and I'm going to make sure you do." The man crouched down and slammed the tray on the floor, a bit harder than was necessary.

Emil flinched at the force, and glared up at the man. The man glared back, unphased.

"I'm not hungry" Emil growled after a moment. The man said nothing, just raising an eyebrow in an 'are you _sure_' gesture. His unwavering gave bored into Emil.

Eventually, Emil lowered his eyes, and switched his glare to the food. There was a bit of everything: bread, butter, eggs, cheese, fruit, sausage… His stomach ached at the site, but his anger stopped him from wanting any of it. Alas, it was obvious the man would not leave him alone if he didn't eat, so there wasn't much choice in the matter.

Reluctantly, Emil started eating. It was probably delicious, but to him it was tasteless and rubbery. He looked up every so often to see if the man was satisfied. He just kept staring. He was becoming convinced that this must have been a strange, new form of torture.

Only when most of the tray was empty did the man consider Emil done. He scooped up the try and stood to leave. Emil glared at him, mentally willing the German to go.

Before he did, however, the man seemed to rethink something. He crouched back down, and leaned in close to Emil; far closer than the young-man liked.

"Listen to men, and listen good: don't try to make things harder for yourself," he whispered into Emil's ear. "We really don't want to hurt you." He leaned back out to look Emil hard in the eyes.

Emil was taken aback. The look the man gave him was a soft, sad one. It almost felt like... sympathy.

"Trust me, I thought they were crazy too."

With those parting words, the man stood up, tunred on the heel of his boot, and marched out of the room. The door shut, and the lock clicked back into place.

Emil just sat there, confused. He stared at the door, running those last words over and over in his mind.

_I thought they were crazy, too_.


	10. Chapter 10: Explanations

Author's Note: Alright, time to get back in the swing of things!

I've been getting quite a few questions in the reviews, and at least half of them are asking about the Nordics. Half of those being about Norway in specific.

You guys just really want to see the fireworks, don't you? XD

Anywho, I've decided it's high time I disclaim somethings in response to a few queries:

The Nordics shall appear **soon**. Sooner than some might think, even

There shall also be no pairings. I highly doubt I will ever write a fic with shipping, to be honest.

Also: I would like to state that Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus will **NOT** be appearing in this fic - not even in mention - due to certain... issues in the area.

Hope you enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

Emil slept on the bed that night. Not because he wanted to, mind you, but after spending the last night curled up on the floor, he needed a proper night's sleep on something that wouldn't murder his back. He didn't have another strange dream, and he woke up feeling markedly better than yesterday.

No one came to bother him, and he just lounged around. He decided that wasn't going to refuse food if someone decided to offer it. He didn't want another visit from that strange German man with the red eyes.

Strangely enough, no one came to the door. Emil moved to the floor, where he sat, head in his hands, glaring at the door. These people had seemed so eager to pop in and ask if he was alright yesterday. This sudden change in treatment began to eat at his already strained patience.

Eventually, the locked clicked, and the door crept open. Emil sat up straighter, narrowing his eyes. He was ready and willing give whoever was coming in an earful on the proper way to treat their captives.

The German that had brought him food yesterday stuck his head in the door, and grinned at Emil. Emil's stomach dropped, and he groaned inwardly. Oh, God, not this guy again.

The German looked around, as if looking for anyone else in the hall, and then slipped in the room. Emil scowled at him, but the guy didn't seem to notice. He just sat down on the floor, staring across the room at the young man.

"How 'bout you and me go for a little field trip?" the man suggested, still grinning. Emil's scowl only deepened, but the man didn't seem to care. "You're probably hungry, and I think someone needs to suck it up and explain what's going on," he pressed. Emil listened up at that last part. He sat up straighter, and cocked an eyebrow in a questioning look. The man took this as a sign to continue. "No one here knows what the heck to think about you. They have no idea how to handle what's going on; and to be pretty honest, they've botched it pretty bad. Now, I'll explain what I think is going on here, but only if you agree to come with me, and tell me your name."

Emil paused, still staring. On the one hand, he did want to know what was happening. But on the other, he wasn't sure he wanted to go _anywhere_with this guy.

"Emil," he said, slowly. The man's grin widened at this, and he reached out a hand.

"And I'm Prussia, by the way; but I'll understand if you'd rather call me Gilbert," he told Emil. Emil blinked, and stared at him for a long moment.

"Wait, isn't Prussia…?"

"Not a country anymore? Exactly. And that's why I think I have a _preetty_ good idea of what exactly's happening here," Prussia finished for him. Emil didn't say anything. He just stared at the hand still held out to him. Finally, figuring he didn't have any better option, he reached out to shake it.

Faster than Emil could think, Prussia reached behind his back and slapped one side of a pair of handcuffs on Emil's outstretched wrist. Before the young man could do anything, he took the other loop and clicked it on his own wrist. Emil yelled, and tried recoil his hand. It was too late. He was caught.

"I also know better than most that you'll probably try to run away the moment you can!" Prussia added, cheerily. Emil glowered at him, but the man just kept smiling warmly. He stood up, dragging Emil with him, and headed towards the door. Emil tried to plant himself, attempting to stop him from going anywhere. Prussia, however, was much stronger than Emil anticipated. He was swiftly pulled out the door, into the hallway, and off to who-knew-where. Emil trudged along, glaring at his captor's back.

"First stop: food!" Prussia declared, pointing forwards like he was leading some sort of adventure. Emil said nothing. He just glared at the German's back.

They finally stopped in a small kitchen. It was square, with a butcher block table in the center, with counters and cabinets surrounding it. Prussia switched the handcuff to a cabinet handle, ignoring the dark look Emil gave him. Once he was finished, the young man tested the hold. He yanked against cuffs a few times, but Prussia stopped him with a lite knock on his head.

"Oi, knock it off," he ordered. Emil turned to glare at him. If looks could kill, Prussia would've been a pile of ash on the floor, but the older man ignored it, and set to work making breakfast. Emil leaned back against the counter, and watched him with a steely gaze. Prussia busied himself, rounding up eggs, bread, sausage, jam, coffee, oand other traditionally breakfast-y things.

Before Emil's eyes, Prussia had whipped up a massive breakfast, and he set a plate, as well as a mug of strong smelling coffee on the table before Emil. He set his own food down, grabbed a fork, and started eating.

It smelled amazing. Emil didn't want to eat it after the indignation of being handcuffed to the cabinet. The smell, however, and his own hunger drove him to take a bit. _Just_ one, he told himself. Emil chose the toast, and nibbled at it. It had been topped with a sweet jam, and Emil had to admit, it tasted pretty good. He decided to take another bite, this time of sausage. He took a swig of coffee. It was strong and rich, just how he like it.

In no time at all, Emil found himself scarfing down the food with gusto. It was decidedly difficult with only his left hand, but he went as fast as he could. Prussia watched, done with his own meal. Only when the plate had been all but cleaned did Prussia take the dishes and place them in the sink.

Emil relaxed against the counter, sighing contentedly. The food made him feel infinitely better. Even the damned handcuff didn't seem to bother him as much.

Prussia returned to the table and propped himself on his elbows. He looked at Emil for a long time without saying a word. It took the young man a moment to realize he was being stared at, and he furrowed his brows. The warmth in his belly started to wear off, and he was remembering he wasn't exactly here by choice.

"So, I guess I should explain why you're here," Prussia started. His carefree demeanor had vanished, and the look on his face was dead serious. Emil felt unease starting to creep down his spine. He din't like this felt like it was going. "You heard about this whole 'you're actually a country' thing, right?"

"There's no way that can be real -and even if it somehow is, I am _not_ Iceland," Emil interrupted. Prussia looked at him, like he was running that over in his mind.

"Whether you're Iceland or not isn't really the point right now. What _does_ matter is why everyone flipped their shit over it, and what it means for you," Prussia told him. Emil bit his lip. He wanted to tell him just how crazy this all was, but he realized it wouldn't help anything.

Prussia straightened up, and took a deep breath.

"The simple fact of the matter is that, until a few days ago, everyone of us knew without a doubt -or at least we thought we did - that Iceland, the personification, was dead."

Emil suddenly felt very, very cold. Dead? They thought he was someone who had _died_?

"The thing is, a nation very rarely stops existing. When it does, two things can happen: either the personification forgets themselves, become's a normal human, and lives out the rest of their natural lives; or, they disappear. Vanish. Leaving nothing behind but dust in the wind."

"So you all think that Iceland became a normal human?" Emil asked, trying to play along. Prussia shook his head.

"Oh, no. That's the problem, actually. When Laki erupted, the European countries had all just finished some big conference. I wasn't allowed in, so I was outside in the lobby. Yo- er, Iceland, apparently weren't feeling all that well, so they just kind of left you-, eh, him, alone. Next thing we all knew, there was a bunch of screaming. Everyone, including myself, ran in. We saw Iceland on the ground, and there was blood on the floor. Lots of it."

Prussia paused, and took another deep breath. Emil could see he was having trouble recounting all this. The memory was clearly an unpleasant one.

"Norway freaked out, and tried to wake him up, but it didn't work. Nothing did. He just… poof," Prussia made a motion with his hands, "gone. Just like that. In front of everyone."

Prussia folded his arms across his chest, and fixed his eyes on the table top. Emil said nothing. Part of him wanted to scream about how crazy this entire story was, but the look on Prussia's face… Emil shivered. The guy looked downright haunted.

"Then a few days ago, Netherlands and Belgium run into you in a bookshop, and all of the sudden everyone in Europe is running around like chickens with their heads cut off, wondering how you could have come back," he finished.

"What do you think is going on, then," Emil asked. Prussia looked back up at him, and he almost regretted asking.

"Well, you see, after Prussia - the country - collapsed, I was able to hang on as East Germany. And when that finally ended, I just lost my memory and wandered around as a human, or so I thought. It was only when I found the other nations, and my little bro, Germany - the guy that tossed you in your room - that I was able to remember who and what I was." He explained after a pause. "Personally: I think, that if you are Iceland, you're in the same place as I was. No memories, ."

Emil just stood there. His head was spinning at a thousand kilometers per hour. This was crazy, absolutely crazy.

"Well, now that that little exposition is over," Prussia announced, standing up and clapping his hands together, "We need to get you back to your room before someone realizes you're missing." He had plastered a wide grin on his face, and the sudden mood shift threw Emil off.

Prussia eyed the handcuffs keeping Emil attached to the cabinet.

"I think we can go back without having to deal with that little formality, don't you?"

Prussia freed Emil from the handcuffs, and the two walked back through the corridors. Emil didn't try to run. He was pretty sure that his chaperon would just grab him if he did. Either way, his mind was still spinning, trying to go over what the man had just told him.

He was so preoccupied that he almost didn't notice when he walked past an open door. Almost.

Emil stopped in his tracks. Prussia didn't notice, and just kept walking. He turned around, crouching down as he did so. He snuck to the door way, and leaned inside

Inside was a large room, with massive ceilings and a stone floor. it must have been a ball room or something. Emil briefly admired the sheer size and detail of the room, but his attention was soon drawn to the drama unfolding in its center.

Several people were clustered around the sides of the space, watching the center with anxious expressions. Their gazes were on a smaller group, some of whom Emil recognized. There was the man Emil now knew was Germany, the guy with the scar who Emil supposed was the Netherlands, and the Swiss up front, along with about three or four others. The Swiss was in a shouting match with three men standing across from the group. The two tallest stood a little ways back, watching with dark faces. The closest to the door was a man with wild blond hair that seemed to defy gravity, and a long, black coat with red trim. He stood next to another man, with lighter blond hair that was cropped short, glasses, and a long, blue coat. His stare freaked Emil out, even from halfway across the very large room. The one doing most of the shouting was a shorter man, also a blond. His hair was short and wavy, and his eyes were a deep, midnight blue. He wore a blue naval looking uniform, versus the coats of his companions. His expression was that of rage, and he was yelling at the Swiss at the top of his lungs. Even at that distance, Emil could hear him quite clearly.

"_Every one in Europe seems to know what the hell is up, except us! Even Finland knows what's going on, but he won't say a thing! And don't tell me it's nothing; Every nation in Europe is here, and no one will so much as looks us in the eye! Why won't you tell us what's happening!?_" he roared. The Swiss glared back at him, and started shouting his rebuke. The other man just fumed. He turned, glowering at the spectators. His eyes passed over the doorway where Emil was lurking.

The man froze.

His gaze snapped back to the doorway. Emil's eyes met his, and he stood rooted to the spot like a deer caught in headlights.

The color drain from the man's face, and his jaw dropped open. His companions noticed, and turned to look a Emil. Their faces also fell into ones of shock. The Swiss stopped his yelling, baffled as to what they were looking at, and everyone else in the turned to look at where the three were staring.

Gasps and exclamations rang out. Everyone was staring at him now, but Emil didn't notice. He was too focused on the man in the uniform.

Emil knew him.

Not his face. He never saw his face. Only his hair was what gave it away.

This was the man from the dream. This was the golden haired man.

Emil stood there, mouth agape. He kept staring at the man, and the longer he did so, the more and more certain he became. It was him, the one that always appeared. Part of Emil expected to start falling down into nothingness, like in the dream. He didn't. This was real. He was awake, and this was real.

Time stood still. The two kept staring, noticing nothing else. The man finally seemed to realize something, and he inhaled sharply.

The man stepped forward, disbelief evident in every movement. He raised his hand, almost as if wanting to reach out to Emil.

He spoke. His voice was small, unbelieving, almost as if he din't even dare to hope.

"Island? Is that you?"


	11. Chapter 11: Shattering

Author's Note:I think I can reasonably assume none of you were expecting the Nordics _that_ soon XD Anyway, looks like things are starting to get interesting. The big bro has arrived to save the day! Or has he? I guess you'll just have to keep reading.

In other news, I'm thinking of posting some art for the fic on my deviant art. What do you guys think? Getting to see some of the OCs and some of Emil's more entertaining reactions to some of the things that go down?

Also: 800+ views! You guys are the greatest! It's becoming hard not to work on the chapters, I just can't wait to hear reactions to some of the bigger twists.

Hope you enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

The next thing Emil knew, he was being wrapped in the tightest, hardest hug he had ever had. The man had sprinted full tilt across the room, and Emil was almost knocked to the floor by the impact.

The man was whispering something that sounded something like 'Thank God' over and over again as he pressed Emil to his chest. Emil, meanwhile, just stood there, letting himself be rocked back and forth in the other man's embrace. He was still trying to figure out what the hell was happening.

This was the man from his dream. This man was real. He was real and he was clinging to Emil like the young man would disappear at any moment. The thought was almost to surreal for Emil to even believe it.

The man finally pulled away, and clasped Emil's face in his hands. There were tears in his blue eyes, and his face was filled with such joy that Emil had never seen before.

"It's you, it really is you," he murmured, looking Emil over. A hand pushed a lock of pale hair back into place. "Oh, thank you God, it's really you," he repeated, as if not fully believing it. He pulled Emil back into the warm embrace. "You're alive," he sighed, so low that only Emil could hear.

Emil blinked. "Alive". Wait a minute, this man didn't think..?

Cold, hard reality crashed into Emil like a tonne of bricks. He snapped out of his apparent daze, and began to fight against the man, struggling to break free of his grip.

He let go of Emil, and the young man backed away, all the way to the wall. The man looked at him, confused.

"Who are you?" Emil asked, slowly. A chill was trickling down his spine, and he had to stamp down the urge to shake.

The man's brows furrowed, as if in incomprehension. He looked at Emil, trying to figure out what he was saying

"What do you mean? It's me: Norge," he insisted. He tried to reach towards Emil, but the young man backed away again. His palms were growing sweaty. He balled them into fists.

"I don't know who you are," Emil pleaded. His eyes darted around, looking anywhere but at the man before him. He caught a glimpse Prussia, standing a ways down the hall. The German was grimacing at the scene before him.

A hand grabbed his arm, and Emil jumped. He looked back up, sharply, only to see the man's face, frowning at him.

"You don't… remember?" he asked, his voice small. Emil looked down to the floor. A strange panic was starting to well up inside him. He wanted to tell himself that this wasn't happening, that he was just dreaming this entire thing.

A small crowd had gathered at the doorway. Emil could see the feet of two taller men, standing at the front. He didn't see their faces, and he honestly didn't want to. All eyes were on him, and it only made matters worse.

Finally, the man in the blue coat stepped forward. He mumbled something, and he and the other man stepped back to the door. Emil dared to glance up. The man didn't so much as look at him. He looked over to Prussia, and the German made a 'follow me' motion with his head before turning to walk down the hall. Emil obediently followed after him.

They walked in silence; Emil with his head bowed, hands still clenched, and Prussia staring pointedly ahead. After a minute, the older man started hissing something under his breath. Emil assumed he was swearing, but he was too distracted to care. They eventually reached the room, and Emil went inside without protest. He heard the lock click behind him.

Emil felt like his skull was going to split in two. Shock, confusion and uncertainty whirled in his brain, and threatened to make him sick. He wondered it he was going crazy.

He knew that man was the one whom he had been seeing in the dream. The dream he had been having for for as long as he could remember. Of that he was sure. But he still didn't know who he was, or why he would be here, with these crazy people calling themselves countries. Emil let himself fall on the bed, and he curled onto his side. His head was starting to hurt

It was all too much. He just wanted to be home, with his god-awful life and god-awful part time jobs. He wanted to get back to his novel, and just forget any of this ever happened.

He shut his eyes, letting himself succumb to the exhaustion that washed over him. Part of him wanted to believe that his was just a strange dream. That when he woke up he would be back in his flat. But he couldn't sleep.

When he opened his eyes, he was still in the room. Still stuck, curled onto his side.

He laid there for what felt like an eternity. He replayed the last few days in his mind. It was all so strange, all so bizarre. He vividly remembered the feeling of the chloroform-soaked rag being stuffed against his face. The sickly sweet fumes invading his lungs. How it felt like his limbs were shutting down. He remembered waking up in that massive room, trapped in a foreign country by madmen claiming to be nations. Even Prussia, the one who insisted on feeding him, and actually tried to give a semblance of an explanation, was just another bar in this padded cage.

And then there was _him_.

Something in Emil's mind snapped. He bolted upright, eyes darting frantically. The room felt like it was closing in on him, and his heart fluttered against his ribs like a bird in a cage that was too small. His breath came in panicked gasps. Terror started to course in his veins. Something somewhere in the most basic, primal part of his psyche was screaming as loud as it could. He had to get out. He had to get out **now**.

Limbs barely obeying him, he got to his feet. He stumbled briefly. He searched the room, trying to find a way to escape. The door was out. That only left the window.

He stared at the glass. It was a solid pane, and a thick one at that. He started looking for something heavy, something solid. When nothing proved available, he gritted his teeth. He was getting dizzy, and chills were starting to run up and down his back. Suddenly, an idea flashed in his mind. He stumbled into the washroom, and set himself on the shower nozzle. His shaking hands could barely unscrew the fixture, but he got it loose eventually. He returned to the room, and quickly grabbed a shirt from the dresser, wrapping it around his hand. He climbed up on top of the dresser, and crouched down. He tried to steel himself, with little success. Finally, with all the strength he could muster, he struck out.

It took a few tries, but it eventually gave way. He kicked out the last remaining shards with his boot and looked around. He wasn't sure if anyone had heard him, but the panic running through him made sure he didn't stick around to find out. He started to slip out, carefully as he could in his current state.

"_Fuck_!" he hissed. A stubborn piece of glass had remained in the frame and pierced the sleeve of his jacket. Startled by the pain, he lost his grip on the window and fell down the rest of the way.

With a sickening thud, he hit the ground two stories below him. His head cracked on the concrete, and lights swam along his vision. He lay there, stunned and unable to move. His arms and legs went numb, and darkness failed to overtake him. For what felt like an eternity, he stayed like that, hearing nothing but the sound of his own shallow breaths.

Finally, the fear that had welled up inside him began to recede. Pain filled the space it left behind, and he groaned. His limbs still felt weak, but he sat up, slowly. He looked down, only to be met by the bright crimson hue of blood. The glass had left a deep gash. He swore, trying to figure out what to do next. He grabbed the old shirt and wrapped it around his arm. He looked up, squinting. The shattered window gaped a ways up the wall, and he had, by some miracle, missed the shards on the street below. Blood was dripping down the frame, and there was a sizable pool on the ground. Emil pressed his arm harder. The sight made him just a bit queasy.

He sat there, letting the fuzziness in his head fade before he thought of what he was going to do next. He looked around. He was in a small street, with no one around. Sun was beaming down, and it was strangely warm. The full magnitude of what he had done hit him.

Excitement welled up even in spite of the pain in his arm. He was out. Free. Away from these people trying to tell him he was a country. He grinned wildly, letting the giddiness sweep him away. He scrambled to his feet, and looked each way. He didn't really care which way he went, he just wanted to go. Without thinking, he bolted down the street. He kept running until he reached another street. He took a moment to stuff his arm beneath his jacket, picked a direction, and kept running. He did that every time he came to a stop, making his way through the maze of the city.

Only when he came to a small park did he let himself stop. His head was starting to feel dangerously light, and his breath was coming out in puffs. He stumbled over to the nearest tree and flopped down in the cool grass. He hadn't run like that in ages, and it showed.

He watched people walk past on the nearby path, spacing out. He knew he needed to make a plan. He was in a foreign country, with no money, no way to get back home, and no knowledge of the local language. But he was just so tired. He was almost dizzy. As weakness seeped into him, he suddenly remembered something. He looked down at his arm. It was still bleeding profusely, and the blood was starting to show through the fabric of the old shirt. Oh, shit. He felt a wave of panic threaten to wash over him. This was bad the was bad. He leaned back against the trunk of the tree and screwed his eyes shut. He needed to do something, and fast, before he bleed to death.

"Est-ce vous êtes blessé?" a voice asked. Emil snapped his eyes open, startled. A young man was staring down at him, concern on his face.

"What?" Emil asked. He didn't speak a word of whatever it was the young man was speaking.

The man furrowed his brows.

"Est-que vous parlez français?" he asked, obviously confused. Emil stared at him blankly. His mind was starting to fog. The young man blinked, and then looked down. He caught a glimpse of Emil's arm, and gasped in shock.

"Vous saignez!" he cried, dropping down. He tried to grab at the cloth, but Emil pulled away. He tried to stand up and get away from this strange foreigner. The world lurched, and he flopped back down to the ground. Emil gasped, feeling his strength leave his limbs. Everything was spiraling. The young man yelled, and started shaking Emil. He was talking to Emil, trying to keep him awake, but he couldn't hear. Everything was going dim. Within seconds, he slipped into darkness, passing out cold.


	12. Chapter 12: Salvation! Maybe

Author's Note: 1,000+ VIEWS! EFF YA!

Also: who else is psyched for Eurovision? It's tomorrow morning for me, and I can't wait!

I would like to make a special thanks to ThePineappleNerd for providing some beer-based assistance for this chapter. (Also, if you guys haven't checked out her fic, The Quote Frenzy ( s/9578678/1/The-quote-frenzy), then you are seriously missing out -it is comedy GOLD)

Expect a link to some art in the next chapter!

Emil, you doofus, look at this mess you've gotten yourself into! Hopefully you get out of it soon enough

Hope You Enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

Emil came to very quickly. He was only out for a few seconds. His head, however, still spun and throbbed, threatening to do it again if he so much as twitched.

He was sprawled, back on the grass, gaze fixed on a blue sky blocked by the young man's silhouette. He looked down at Emil, brows furrowed, and concern filling his eyes.

"Do you want me to call an ambulance?" he asked in English. Emil looked at him blankly. His head was dangerously light, and he could barely understand the man through his accent. "Do. You. Need. An. Ambulance?" He asked again, enunciating each syllable. Emil snapped his eyes wide.

Something in his gut screamed at him, and he spoke with out thinking.

"_No_." He tried shaking his head, but the young man stopped him. "No ambulance. Don't," he pleaded. Every instinct he he possessed was telling him that he did not want to go to a hospital. The young man frowned at him. For a harrowing moment, Emil thought he was just going to call anyway.

To his surprise, the young man wrapped his arms beneath Emil's shoulders, and started lifting him up. Emil's knees buckled, but the young supported his weight

"Stay awake," he whispered. Emil nodded, silently. He honestly didn't know if he could.

They started walking, one supporting the other. Emil focused on moving his legs, trying to make things easier for the man holding him. He couldn't pay attention to much more than that. It felt like cotton was stuffed where his brain should have been, and he had to fight not to fall asleep.

In what felt like no time at all, Emil found himself being lowered down and settled onto something soft and forgiving. He faded in and out, and he desperately tried not to succumb to darkness.

His legs were lifted up and propped on something tall. Something else was stuffed beneath the small of his back. His uninjured arm was draped over the back of what must have been a couch, and the shirt on his other arm was removed. Something wet was wiped over the gash, and Emil sucked in a breath as it stung slightly. He squinted his eyes close and gritted his teeth as he felt the young man work on the wound. He blacked out again as the blood rushed back into his head.

When he opened his eyes again, the sun was slipping down and the sky, and he had no idea where he was. He looked down at his arm, wrapped in crisp, white bandages. His hand had also been wrapped in the stuff, keeping it still. The fog in his mind had lifted, and he vaguely remembered the young man from the park. He looked around, trying to find his apparent savior.

He was in a smaller studio apartment, that was still bigger than his. He was on a couch in a little sitting area, with a coffee table and a chair to one side. There was a kitchenette along one wall, and a small TV on the counter was playing some strange program in what appeared to be French. There was a half-wall behind the couch, appearing to divide the space, and Emil craned his head to try and look around it.

The young man poked his head from behind the wall, startling Emil. His eyes widened as they fell on him, surprise lit his face

"Vous êtes réveillé!" he announced. Emil stared at him, uncomprehending. "You' are awake!" he added, reddening ever so slightly. "I'm sorry," he apologized.

"It's okay" Emil assured him, despite his own uncertainty. The young man walked over, and crouched down in front of the couch.

"Do you feel alright?" he asked. Emil looked down, uncomfortable.

"Yes, I guess. My head feels better," he told the young man, slowly. He nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer. He suddenly stuck out his hand.

"My name is Philippe. Philippe Dubois," he said, brightly

"Emil, Emil Steinsson," Emil, replied, shaking it gingerly. Philippe smiled, either uncaring or unaware of Emil's obvious discomfort.

"You are very lucky, Mr. Steinsson; your wound was long, but not deep, and you wrapped that shirt around it. If it had been any deeper, or if you didn't stop the blood, then you might have gone into shock," Philippe explained. Emil stared at him, taken aback. He talked like a doctor speaking to his patient, not at all what he expected. Emil discreetly looked him over.

He was young, close to Emil in age, with messy strawberry blond hair and hazel eyes. He had a light dusting of freckles, and a pair of square-framed glasses perched high on his nose. He had a kindly, bookish air about him, and Emil would have liked him immediately if they hadn't met under such weird circumstances.

"I am a medical student," Philippe said, answering Emil's unspoken question. Emil raised his brows. That explained quite a bit. "So," he continued, the first hint of uncertainty slipping into his voice. "May I ask how you hurt yourself?"

Emil's stomach dropped, and his mind scrambled for an explanation that didn't sound as crazy as the truth certainly did.

"Uhhhh… some glass. I, uh, cut it on some glass," he told Philippe. He spoke a bit too quickly, and the young man cocked a brow. Thankfully, he said nothing more on the matter.

"I presume you have a place to stay?" he asked instead, changing the subject. That only made it worse. Emil grimaced.

"Uh…," Emil trailed off. "About that…" Philippe looked at him, surprised.

"So, you have no place to go?" he asked. Emil shook his head, too embarrassed to try and keep talking "You do have money, correct?" Emil shook his head again. Philippe leaned back on his haunches, and pursed his lips. "Well, that is a problem." He concluded. Emil nodded in agreement.

The two sat there for a long time, not saying anything. Emil shifted. He was still propped up on what turned out to be a bunch of pillows, and it was starting to get really uncomfortable.

"Well, if it's really that bad," Philippe, started, "I guess you could stay here for a night". Emil snapped his gaze up. He full on stared at the young man, taken aback by the offer.

His first, gut reaction was to politely decline. He had barely met Philippe, after all, and this was all just so... awkward. But he knew he had nowhere to go if he did. He mulled it over, weighing the pros and cons in his mind.

"Alright, I guess," he accepted, slowly. Philippe dipped his head, and Emil could have sworn he saw a small smile.

"I'm afraid you'll have to sleep on the couch," he admitted, speaking quickly. He stood up, and Emil shrank back in spite of himself. Philippe was a lot taller than he thought the young man would going to be._  
_

"Would like something to eat?" he asked, turning towards the kitchenette.

"Yes, thank you," Emil responded, still not entirely sure what was happening. Everything was happening a bit too fast for his liking. He got himself off the pillows and sat there, watching his impromptu host. Just then, something occurred to him.

"Excuse me, but, so you have a phone?" Emil asked, suddenly. Philippe spun around.

"Oui, I do," He told him. "Do you need to make a call?" Emil nodded. Philippe turned, and strode over to a coat rack. He pulled a smart phone from the pocket of a jacket hanging there. He handed it to Emil. "Here you go," he chirped.

"Thank you," Emil said again. Philippe nodded, and trotted back to the kitchenette.

Emil looked down at the device in his hands. He had never used a smartphone before. Hell, he didn't even have a cell phone. Fortunately for him, Philippe had already pulled up the keypad for the call option, and Emil tapped in the digits.

He put the phone to his ear, and waited. There were only a few rings before a voice answered.

"_Hallo, this is Bjarni's books, how may I help you?_" Bjarni asked, his English surt and pleasant

"Hay, Bjarni," Emil responded, relieved to hear a familiar

"_Emil__!?_" Bjarni exclaimed, startling Emil. He switched to Icelandic. "_My God, is that you? Where have you been? It's been three days!_"

"Yes, yes Bjarni, it's me. Listen, I'm in Brussels right now-" Emil tried to explain, holding up a hand in a stopping motion.

"_**Brussels**__!? Are you in Belgium?_" Bjarni asked, all but but shouting into the other end.

"Yes, yes. Now liste-"

"_How did you get to **Belgium**!?_" Bjarni roared. Emil cringed away from the phone.

"I.. can't really tell you, but listen to me. I'm stuck, I don't have any money to get back. Can you help me?" Emil pleaded. He heard Bjarni pause on the other side. He waited for a long moment. Finally, the old man sighed.

"_Alright, I'll get you a plane ticket. Can I reach you at this number again?_" Bjarni asked. Emil sighed, relief washing over him.

"Just give me a second," Emil told him. He put the phone to his chest and looked up at Philippe. The young man had ignored Emil's conversation, obviously not understanding a word of the Icelandic spoken. When he had stopped speaking, however, Philippe looked up as well.

"I have a friend who can help me get home, but he needs to be able to reach me again," Emil explained. Philippe made a waving motion.

"It is no problem," He assured Emil. Emil dipped his head in gratitude. He brought the phone back to his ear.

"Alright, you can reach me here, but don't be surprised if a man speaking French picks up instead of me," Emil told Bjarni.

"_A French guy_?" Bjarni asked, surprise in his voice

"It's a _long_ story," Emil stressed. Instead of saying anything, Bjarni snorted. He actually snorted. Emil had _never_ heard anything like that before

"_Well, that explains a bit_," he joked.

"_Bjarni!_" Emil hissed incredulously. Bjarni just chuckled some more.

"_I'll go get your plane ticket, you just hang tight with your Frenchman_," Bjarni told him.

"He's Belgian! And it is _n__ot_ like that!" Emil snapped.

"_Alright_," Bjarni said, amusement still in his voice. Emil could swear he was smirking on the other end. Before he could shout at Bjarni, however, the older man hung up. Emil stared at the phone, still fuming. He set the device down on the coffee table and leaned back with a huff. Philippe had apparently finished working and was eating a pineapple slice -Emil found that more than a little strange. He was obviously curios as to what that exchange was about.

After a moment, he finally spoke up.

"Where are you from, might I ask?" Philippe asked from the kitchenette.

"Iceland. Reykjavik, to be specific," Emil told him. Philippe paused.

"You are far from home," he remarked. Emil nodded.

"I know," he responded. Philippe seemed to consider something.

"I know this might be a bad idea, since you hurt yourself so badly, but would you like a beer?" he asked. Emil perked up at that. He liked beer. He couldn't afford it most of the time, but he savored it when he could get it.

"Sure," Emil replied. Philippe ducked over to the small fridge on one side of the wall and looked inside for a bit. He quickly reappeared with a couple bottles. He popped the caps off of both and brought one over. Emil accepted it gratefully. He read the label; "Jupiler". He might've heard of it, but he wasn't sure. Either way, he took a swig. It was a good, pale lager, and he savored it.

Philippe had settled down, trading his pineapple for a bottle of a different brand. He couldn't make it out, as Philippe was rather inconspicuously blocking the label with his hand. He frowned slightly. Was he drinking _pink_ beer? Philippe noticed Emil's confusion, and blushed. _  
_

"It's Hoegaarden Rosée," he explained, "I like the sweet taste." Emil nodded. The poor guy sounded extremely embarrassed, and he didn't want to push him .

The two sat in silence. Apparently whatever it was Philippe was making needed to simmer, and they each enjoyed their beers.

"I hope you don't mind me asking, but what exactly are you going to do about getting home?" Philippe asked, cautiously. Emil took another swig of his drink.

"I have a friend getting me a plane ticket," Emil responded simply. Philippe nodded, thoughtfully.

"Maybe next time you visit Brussels, you'll actually have a plan," he joked. Emil grinned, the alcohol lightening his mood.

"And try not to die," he added.

"Ya, that too," Philippe grinned as well.


	13. Chapter 13: Return

Author's Note: 1,200+ views! Woot!

Hehehe, apparently the last chapter was a hit. Which is nice, seeing as it took me no less than 5 tries to get it right.

Anyway, I think it's time to introduce a little something I've been putting off for a while~

Hope you Enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

Bjarni made good on his promise, and the next day Emil had his flight back home. Philippe drove him to the airport and waved him off. The young man had turned out to be a rather pleasant guy to talk to, and Emil was quite glad to have run into him. He'd even learned a few French words -"Oui" "Non" and "Merde", which Philippe had insisted was satisfactory for getting around in any area that spoke French.

Emil had never been on a plane before, and the thrill of seeing the ground disappear beneath him managed to distract him from the ordeal of the last few days. A couple hours later, Emil had touched down at Keflavík, and stumbled through both the airport and a sever case of travel fatigue. The strange conditions were messing with him, and he had a pounding headache by the time he exited the building. Thankfully, Bjarni was waiting outside with a car - which caught Emil by surprise, since he didn't know Bjarni had a car. Either way, Emil still clambered into the backseat gratefully. He laid there, letting himself recover as his boss made the drive back to Reykjavík. They stopped at Bjarni's bookstore, and Bjarni helped him inside and up the stairs to the older man's loft. Inside, Emil let himself flop onto a chair, and Bjarni settled himself across from him.

They sat there for a long moment, neither saying a word. Bjarni had an unreadable expression, and Emil's relief was starting to turn to unease.

Finally, Bjarni spoke up.

"So, what happened to your arm?" he asked. Emil looked down at it. It was still wrapped in Philippe's bandages, and he was embarrassed to remember that the Belgian had insisted on writing his email address on it.

"I cut it on some glass in Brussels," Emil told him, as if it was obvious. Bjarni nodded, but Emil could see something doubtful in his eyes.

"And you can't tell me how got there, can you?" he continued. Emil frowned. Something in Bjarni's tone set him on edge, though he couldn't figure out why.

"It's…" Emil looked for an explanation. Bjarni held up a hand to stop him.

"It's alright" he said. Emil closed his mouth, and watched Bjarni. He had the creeping feeling that the older man knew something he didn't. "Listen, if something happened that you don't want to tell me, that's fine," Bjarni assured him. Emil narrowed his eyes. He wasn't sure what was going on here, but he was certain he was not comfortable with this. "But you need to be careful, Emil. I have a feeling that this next week is going to be very important for you. If you don't wake up and do something, you could hurt yourself a lot more than you think."

Emil furrowed his brows.

"Wait, what are you talking about?" he asked, confused.

"Emil, there is a lot more in this world than one might think," Bjarni told him. Emil stared at him, still not comprehending what it was the older man was saying. Bjarni seemed to realize this, and straightened up with a deep sigh. "Let's just say a little bird whispered in my ear and told me a big storm is coming your way, okay?"

"O...kay?" Emil responded. He still didn't understand. Bjarni nodded, accepting his answer.

"Now, how about we get you home. That Eiríkur fellow has been worried about you."

Emil had never been so happy to open the door to his sad little flat in his entire life. He was exhausted, and He kicked his boots off and walked across the cold, bare, familiar floors and dropped onto his sad, wilted, beloved futon. After all this crap with nations and dream-people, he just ready to get back to his usual, grinding routine and forget any of this ever happened.

He ended up falling asleep right there, and snoozed well into the evening. When he awoke, he stretched and rolled off the futon and onto the floor beneath. His laptop still laid on the coffee table, and he popped it open. He quickly checked his email, already finding a message from Philippe. It was something about making sure to change the bandages and not getting the wound infected. He looked down at his arm. It didn't hurt anymore, but he was better safe than sorry.

There was a sudden ruckus in the hall, and Emil snapped his head up. Someone pounded on the door, almost frantically. Confused., Emil stood up and went to open the door. He hadn't opened it more than a few centimeters, when it was thrown wide and Eiríkur stood before him. His eyes widened when he saw Emil, and he seemed to almost deflate in relief.

"Emil!" he cried, inviting himself in. "Where have you been? It's been days! What happened to your arm?" he rattled off. Emil was taken aback by his neighbor's sudden appearance, but he recovered quickly.

"I was in Brussels," he began.

"Belgium!?"Eiríkur gasped.

"Yes, Belgium," Emil continued, "It's a long story."

"I bet, you look like you went through hell and back," Eiríkur exclaimed. Emil smiled. He didn't know the half of it.

"Ya, feels like it. Listen I gotta go get some bandages," Emil said, grabbing his boots off the floor. Eiríkur's face lit up.

"Hey, lemme come with you - I can get us some beer while you're at it," he asked. Emil paused.

"I don't think the Ríkið is open," he pointed out.

"Oh, ya," Eiríkur's face seemed to drop slightly. "But I can still go with you right?"

"Alright, but I gotta go too sleep when he get back," Emil told him. Eiríkur grinned widely.

"Meet me by the front door, I gotta get dressed first," he said. Emil looked down, and snorted when he realized that his friend was still in his boxer shorts.

"Ya, go do that," he agreed.

The two young men met up outside of their building, Eiríkur having put on some pants and a jacket, and set out for the nearest 16-hour pharmacy. Eiríkur was still hung up on the subject of alchohol, going on about how expensive the stuff was. According to him, it was expensive even before Laki screwed everything over, but the volcano only made problems worse. Emil listened in spite of himself. Eiríkur was an energetic spirit, and Emil enjoyed the company.

He got back to his flat well after midnight, bandages in tow, and slipped inside. He sighed, and hauled himself over to his futon. He flopped down and leaned back. He was genuinely exhausted, and it felt like the first stages of jet lag were setting in. Something occurred to him, and he vaguely wondered if he had been fired from anything. He'd find out tomorrow.

He opened his eyes and started to get up. He needed to change the stuff on his arm before he could go to sleep. He stood, and searched around for his bag from the pharmacy.

He froze like a statue.

There, in the middle of his floor, where he could have swore there hadn't been anything before, sat the last thing he expected to ever see in his flat.

A puffin.

A puffin was sitting in the middle of his flat.

He stared at it, and it stared back. It was perfectly calm, like this was the most natural thing in the world. It blinked, and started preening its feathers. Emil caught a glimpse of a red ribbon tied in a bow about it's neck.

He cocked his head to the side, thoroughly confused.

Why in god's name was there a puffin in his flat?

He started circling it slowly, not sure what to do. It didn't seem to notice him, and he tried walking towards it.

It snapped it's head up, and Emil stopped dead in his tracks. It almost seemed to glower at him.

Suddenly, it opened it's beak, and Emil heard the least thing he ever expected to hear from a puffin

It spoke to him.

It actually spoke to him.

And it said:

"Oi, Motherfucker; what the hell do think you're doing?"


	14. Chapter 14: Puffins and Problems

Author's Note: Two in one day! I'm on a roll XD

Ah yes, Mr. Puffin has finally arrived. Oh Emil, you didn't think you could slip away that easily, did you?

Argh, now I have to actually do my homework. Ah well, this'll have to be enough for now.

Also: I forgot to mention in the last AN, but I'd like to thank Dalasport for their help with how pharmacies work in Iceland. They write Iceland (the character) _fabulously_, and I'd highly recommend giving their work a look. Even their old stuff is good stuff!

Hope you Enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

This was it. It had finally happened.

Emil had gone completely insane.

That was the only thing he could think of that could explain why a talking puffin was in his flat.

He stared, eyes wide and mouth gaping, at the bird. All color had drained from his face, and it felt as if he was about to drop to the floor.

The bird was apparently unimpressed with the sight before him. It fluttered up onto the arm of the futon, and glared at him.

"Wipe that stupid look off your face," it ordered, gruffly. Emil snapped his jaw shut, but kept staring. The bird almost seemed to scowl as it looked him up and down. "Good God, man you look like shit," it huffed. Emil said nothing. It looked up to his face. "Well, don't just stand there, say something, jackass!"

Emil opened his mouth again, but nothing came out. By that point, he was fairly certain that he was hallucinating. The puffin rolled its eyes.

"Jesus Christ, you're hopeless; listen bub," it pointed at Emil with his wing. "I heard about your little stunt in Brussels, and lemme tell you: it was a shitty move. They're all freaking out, and it's your fault." Emil blinked, and, finally, seemed to regain control of his mental faculties.

He cracked up. He laughed at the the puffin, with it's foul mouth, and it's little red ribbon. He laughed at the absurdity of the entire situation -nay, the absurdity of the entire week. He laughed, because there wasn't anything he could do but laugh.

"What the hell _are_ you?" he choked, wiping tears from his eyes.

"It's me, dipshit," it replied, like it was a stupid question. "You _are_ Iceland, aren't you?"

Emil stopped laughing. He looked up at the puffin. Without thinking, he scowled at the thing.

"For the last time, I am _not_ Iceland," he snarled. The puffin seemed to shrink back ever so slightly.

"Oh my God," it breathed, seeming to realize something, "you really don't remember, do you?"

"Apparently not!" Emil snapped. The puffin flinched. "Now, listen. I don't know if you're real or not, but I am sick and fucki-"

"Take your bandage off," the puffin said suddenly. Emil stopped mid rant, and stared at the bird.

"What?" he asked, incredulous.

"I said," the puffin saidk, "Take. Your. Bandage. Off."

Emil stared confused. He wondered if he should listen or not. He figured it couldn't hurt matters, so he moved over to a drawer and pulled out some scissors. He snipped away at some of the cotton. Once it was loose, he unraveled the bandages. The batting beneath was slightly red, and he pulled it away. The skin beneath was also stained, and he wiped it away with a wet washcloth.

Emil felt his blood turn to ice as he stared at his arm. This was not possible. This couldn't be happening.

If one had not known better, one would've said nothing had ever happened to Emil's arm at all. There was no wound, no scab, not even a scar to hint of the gash that had been there just the other day.

Emil worked his mouth, opening and closing it like a fish on dry land. The puffin flew over, and inspected the arm.

"Hmm. Nothing," it remarked. It looked up at Emil.

The young man felt faint. He slumped on the counter, trying not to fall on the floor. He made a strangled noise of confusion. This wasn't happening. It just wasn't possible.

"Well, at least you're still healing like a nation," it said. Emil turned his gaze to the bird.

"How?" he asked, weakly. It was the only thing he could manage. It looked at him, seeing his obvious distress.

"Nations heal really fast," it explained simply.

Emil stared at it for a long moment, trying to comprehend what was going on.

Suddenly, he stood up straight. The puffin flapped away, caught of guard by the action. Emil ignored it, and strode to the door. He swung it open, and the puffin followed at his heels as he marched down the hallway. He descended a couple stories, and marched to another door. He pounded on it, and stood back, waiting.

Eiríkur opened it, confused. He saw Emil, and he furrowed his brows. Emil just stood there, face blank and devoid of emotion.

"Emil, what's wrong?" Eiríkur asked. "I thought you were going to sleep."

Emil didn't respond. Instead, he held up his arm.

"Does this look injured?" Emil asked, flatly. Eiríkur just looked more confused.

"No, it looks just fine. Isn't that the arm that had the bandages?" Eiríkur replied, unsure.

Emil said nothing. He just stood there, staring vacantly ahead.

"Hey man, are you alright?" Eiríkur asked, concern filling his voice. Emil didn't respond. He felt wrong, strange. He felt like the world was crumbling beneath him.

Eiríkur yelled, as Emil crumpled to the floor in a dead faint.

_It hurt, everything hurt. Someone was shaking him, shouting at him. He felt a sickening heat overwhelm him. Warmth seeped into his clothes and the carpet beneath him. Hot fluid, like molten copper filled his chest, drowning him. It was blood, his blood. He was dying. He opened his eyes, dazzled by the searing light that he viewed as if through a tunnel. He could see him. His deep blue eyes, normally so dull and devoid of emotion, were filled with raw terror. He could hear him calling out as if he was far away. "Ice! Ice listen to me, please!" he pleaded, "Don't go; please don't go!". Something wet fell onto his face. He was crying; they were both crying. He wanted to call out, but he couldn't breath. Darkness closed in around him, and he fell into an abyss._

_When he awoke, he was greeted by a dark sky. No stars showed through the smog. Cold, unforgiving concrete was beneath him, and he shivered. The warmth had left his body. Someone appeared above him. He tried to gasp. He knew this man, with warm eyes and a red beard. He reached out a hand towards his old friend. "Help me," was all he choke out before darkness engulfed him once more._

Emil awoke in a cold sweat. For the third time that week, he came to on a couch that he had never been on before. He really needed to stop doing that.

He groaned. His head ached and his mouth was dry. He felt like he had the worst hangover he had ever experienced. He curled onto his side, trying to make the world stop spinning.

He remembered the dream. More vividly than any dream he had ever had. He could still feel the blood in his lungs choking him, spilling onto the ground...

He shivered. He felt cold, like the heat had seeped from his body.

Eiríkur appeared, as if out of nowhere. He crouched down to look at Emil, and the young man looked up at his face. He was obviously concerned.

"Did you catch something in Belgium?" he asked, "You seem really sick." Emil closed his eyes.

"No, it's nothing," he sighed. Eiríkur looked unconvinced.

"What even happened to you?" he pressed, "You just disappeared off the face of the earth, and you just randomly come back with a bandage on his arm, and you hit the floor right outside my apartment."

Emil said nothing. He din't know if he could begin to explain.

Eiríkur sighed, and leaned back.

"Listen, I'll tell the boss what happened: that you got hurt and that you're sick. Coffee shop's still closed, and you already got the boot from that fast food joint, so you don't need to bother with that," Eiríkur explained. Emil nodded, absent mindedly. He just wanted to disappear.

Eiríkur eventually left him alone, and Emil tried to sleep. It was fitful and haunted, and he woke up more exhausted than when he went to sleep.

As he lay on Eiríkur's couch, an idea popped into his head. He tried to ignore it, but it kept resounding. He couldn't get it out of his head. It just grew and grew until he couldn't ignore it anymore.

As he thought it over, the more viable it seemed. Finally, he made up his mind.

He was certain that this was what he needed to do.

He needed to go back to Brussels, and figure out just what the hell was going on here.


	15. Chapter 15: Photographs

Author's Note: It's the home stretch! Only a few chapters left, and I can declare this story done!

Will Emil remember who he is? Will he return to nationhood? Or will he live out the rest of his human days?

You'll just have to keep reading~ :D

Hope you Enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

Philippe was surprised -to say the least- to hear Emil was coming back so soon. Even so, the Belgian agreed to let him crash on his couch again, and Emil set about getting enough together for a return trip.

He didn't tell Eiríkur or Bjarni about it, though. He didn't want to have to answer anymore questions; half of which he didn't even know the answers to himself. Heck, he didn't even know when he'd get back. All he knew was that he needed to figure this out on his own, without anyone trying to worry about him.

Besides, he wasn't sure he could muck his life up more than those 'nations' had.

Soon enough, he was on a plane, and back in Brussels.

He walked out into the old city beneath a gray sky. It looked like it was going to rain. Philippe was waiting to pick him up at the airport, and the med student greeted him with a smile and a case of beer. Emil paused when he saw the booze, and shot Philippe an unspoken question.

"I heard alcohol is stupidly expensive at your place, so I got you a welcoming gift!" he offered by way of explanation. Emil smiled in spite of himself.

"Everything is stupidly expensive, I'm afraid," Emil told him, ruefully. Philippe nodded.

"That volcano messed things up pretty badly," he remarked.

Emil nodded in agreement, and the conversation ended there. The two piled into Philippe's car, an older two seater that seemed to be permeated with a faint cigarette smell. They drove back to the Philippe's apartment. Emil sat down on the couch and placed the duffle bag with his stuff on the floor. Philippe made to grab some already cooled beers, but Emil made a stopping motion.

"I have to head out and do something, do you think we could wait on the beer?" he asked, politely. Philippe blinked, but listened anyway.

Emil headed back out. He decided to simply wander the streets of Brussels. That was pretty much the extent of his plan. He had no idea where the place he escaped from was, but he figured that he should be able to find at least one of these nations somewhere.

He walked with no general direction until he reached what looked like a relatively busy area. People of all sorts were heading to-and-fro. Some shopped, some loitered, and others chattered happily in more languages then he could possibly identify. He milled around, scanning the crowd. He looked around, trying to examine each and every face he could.

_There_.

He saw the man with the scar on his forehead. He was next to the girl he was always with. She appeared to be eating something, a pastry maybe. Emil started to make his way towards the duo, trying his hardest not to be seen.

Someone grabbed him on the shoulder. He jumped, and tried to duck away, but the hand kept him in place.

" 'T's alr'ght, 'm n't g'nna h'rt ya," a deep, gruff voice said. Emil stood there, not daring to so much as breathe. The two he was trying to approach were staring at him, wide eyed. He swore inwardly. "C'me w'th me," the voice ordered. The hand was removed, and an arm was wrapped around Emil's shoulders. It was firm, but didn't crush him. He glanced to the side. The one who grabbed him was the tall blond in the long blue coat.

He lead Emil through the streets, going this way and that. They eventually came to a massive, older looking building. They walked up the steps and inside. Inside was a massive foyer area. With a shock, Emil realized Ii was the same room where he had seen the man from his dreams. He didn't have time to ole as he was walked across the vast space. Their footsteps echoed as they reached the other side.

They entered the hallway on the other side and turned. As they moved, Emil ran through what he was going to say to these people. He wasn't sure exactly what it was going to be, but they probably weren't going to like it. He was thoroughly pissed, and they were going to hear all about it.

They reached a set of double doors, and Emil's anger suddenly evaporated. In it's place was deep, sinking dread. He wanted to stop right there, but the arm around his shoulders made him keep moving. His heart started pounding in his chest. His breath picked up, and his hands shook. He every fiber in his being told him that he did not want to go through those doors.

They entered what looked like a large conference room. There was a large group of people clustered on one side. They stared at Emil as he entered, disbelief filling their gazes. Emil ignored them. His attention was fixed on a spot on the other side, halfway between the door and the table filling the center of the room.

It was about a two square meter area of carpet. It was discolored, stained a deep rust color versus the red of the rest of the floor. There was a strange, black, almost scorched area in the middle. It was about the size and shape of human body.

Emil was overwhelmed with memory of feeling of drowning. He imagined he could feel the hot blood rising in his chest, seeping into his clothes. Shaken, he ripped his gaze away.

The nations, he presumed, were watching him closely. He looked over each one, seeing who he could recognize. He saw Prussia in the back, standing next to Germany. The Brit - England - and the Frenchman - France - had apparently stopped mid-argument. France still held England by the collar. The Swiss - Switzerland - was trying to keep order. There were even more, about a dozen; more than Emil could bother to try and name.

"He came back…" a Slavic-sounding man with blond hair and red eyes whispered

"Didn't he cut himself?" a young French sounding woman with a long braid and glasses asked, confused.

"He must still be healing! Remember Pruss-?" A young Italian with a strange cowlick started, excitedly.

"Shhh!" an older man with olive skin and a matching cowlick hissed, cutting him off.

Emil scowled fiercely, and they all shut up. He stepped forward, out of the grasp of the man holding him. With all eyes on him, he rolled up his sleeve and raised his now uninjured arm.

"I almost killed myself on that trying to escape, and now it looks like nothing has happened," He announced angrily. "And don't get me started on the dreams. Now, you people obviously have some experience in this matter, so." He took a breath, "you either fix whatever the hell is going on with me; _or_, you can let me get on with my life, and leave me the _fuck_ alone," he growled. The nations all looked taken aback, and a couple even gasped when he swore. He glowered at each and everyone of them, driving his anger home.

England stepped forward, hands raised.

"Now, I know this might have all been rather stressful-" he tried to begin.

"Oh it's been stressful, alright," Emil spat. England flinched.

"Well, you see. We don't really know how to help you. The last time it happened was a complete fluke. -But that doesn't mean we can't try," he added quickly. Emil's glower had deepened. "You just need to let us."

Emil said nothing. He stared for a long moment, considering what he had just heard. Finally, he dipped his head. A visible sigh of relief passed through the crowd.

Prussia walked forward, and took grip of Emil's arm. The man in the blue coat backed off as Emil was walked away.

"So, what brought you back?" Prussia whispered once they had left the others behind.

"There was a talking puffin in the middle of my apartment," Emil told him bluntly.

Instead of balking like Emil had expected, Prussia started chuckling.

"We were wondering what happened to Mr. Puffin!" he exclaimed. Emil stared at him.

"Wait, you actually know the puffin?" he asked in disbelief.

"Oh ya, he was rather notorious in those days," Prussia explained, "that bird had the foulest mouth we had ever heard. We wondered why the hell you put up with him for as long as you did. 'Specially when the thing tried to sit on your head." He laughed, remembering the scene. Emil didn't say a word.

They walked, ascending a couple flights of stairs, until they reached a room. it wasn't where Emil had expected it to be. Prussia opened the door for him, and the young man looked inside.

"You'll have to stay in here after your little stunt with the window," Prussia explained.

The new room was larger than the red one Emil had escaped from, and resembled a hotel room in it's design. The walls and floor were neutral in tone, and the bed, a more contemporary twin, bore plain white linens. Emil took one look at Prussia, and slipped inside. The door behind him shut and clicked, locking him in just as he expected.

With a huff, Emil wandered around the room. There was a full bath near the front, and a tv sat on the dresser across from the bed. It was nice, open, and defiantly a step above what he was used to. But he still felt uneasy. The space felt like it had been abandoned. It had been cleaned, but Emil could see a few bits of trash scattered here and there. A book was face down on the nigh stand, as if set down and never picked back up again. A jacket, a well-loved brown military-looking article, was draped over the back of a chair. A pair of white, calf-high boots lay near the jacket. Emil shuddered slightly.

Despite all this, he still flopped on the bed. It was comfortable, if a bit musty. He sighed. Philippe was going to wonder where he was. He rolled over to stare at the ceiling, wondering what he had gotten himself.

After a few minutes, he heard a tapping on the window. He propped himself up to to see what the source of the noise was. The cursed puffin was at the window on the far wall. He scowled, and stood. It waited, as if expecting him to open the window.

Instead, Emil gave it the one-fingered salute, and snapped the blinds close. He was done with talking seabirds for the time being. He stalked back to the bed, and sat, staring straight ahead. He eyed a small table. It was right next to the chair with the jacket. There was a drawer, and some signs of disorder on its top. He decided to investigate.

There was a legal pad, and a pen that had long ago run out of ink. There were notes scrawled across the paper, and with a shock, Emil realized they were in Icelandic. Suddenly curious, he read through them. They weren't much of anything, just complaining about each of the different countries and a couple things to be aware of.

He frowned, and put it down. He searched the drawer next. There was a smart phone, an Icelandic passport, some old krónur, and a couple old euros. He emptied it on the bed.

Then he turned to the dresser. He opened the drawer. There were a few days worth of clothes. Shirts, pants, socks, ties. There was a lopapeysa stuffed to one side, and Emil picked that up. A few photos fell out, and Emil scooped those up as well

He returned to the bed to inspect his findings. He fiddled with the phone, only to toss it aside when he proved unable to unlock the device. He checked the passport next.

In that moment, Emil could have sworn he felt his blood turned to ice in his veins. The passport belonged to one Emil Steinsson, age 23. The picture had slightly longer hair, and a fuller face without the dark bags beneath his eyes, but Emil could still recognize it.

It was his picture.

He set the passport down. He turned his gaze to the photos. With shaking fingers, he reached for the nearest one and flipped it over. It was some generic photo of a random landscape. He let out a breath, not sure if in relief or disappointment, and turned to the next one.

It was the man, the one with the golden hair. He was sitting on a dock with a fishing pole in hand. He seemed to be focused on his task, but a small smile lit his face. Emil set it down. He grabbed the next one. It was the man again. He looked like he had been reading a book, but he was looking at the camera with an amused expression. Emil set that down. The third picture showed the man again. But there was something else.

Emil's breath caught in his throat. He was in the photo. It was a younger him, in a better time, but, just like the passport, he still knew it was him. He and the man were sitting side-by-side, grinning. Their eyes bright, seeming to shine with mischief, like they had just shared a joke only the two of them knew. Emil stared, transfixed. He looked so much happier, so much more… alive.

Something wet fell on the image. Emil put it on the bed, face down, and reached up to wipe at his face.

He was crying. He wasn't even sure why, but he was crying. A strange feeling flooded over him. It cut through him like dull knife, and his heart ached with it.

He looked back down at the picture. Something was written on the back. He squinted, trying to make it out through the tears. There were two words, carefully printed near the bottom.

'Stóri bróðir'._  
_

Emil felt like he had been punched square in the stomach.

He let out a choked gasp. He fought down something trying to rise in his throat His head spun, and he curled into himself. Those words kept resounding. Stóri bróðir. Stóri bróðir. S_tóri bróðir_.

That's who that man was. That's who he kept seeing in his dreams.

His stóri bróðir.

His big brother.


	16. Chapter 16: Comforting

Author's Note: Apparently summer has decided to bless my corner of the world with a little heat wave. Seriously, I think it hit 90 degrees (Fahrenheit) at some point (one of my classrooms was 87!). (that's about 32/30.5 for you Celsius folks)

In other words: It's Hot. It's Really, _Really_ Friggin Hot.

Also: 20 followers! F Yeah! I'm gonna have to hurry up and get out these last few chapters for you guys ^^

Hope you Enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

Emil didn't do anything for the longest time. He simply laid there, trying to come to turns with what he'd just learned.

He had imagined meeting a family he had forgotten, of finding some hint of his past. But not like this; he'd never thought it would be like this.

He looked at the photos. He remembered when he first met him, how the man - his brother - had hugged him, pressing him to his chest. Emil squeezed his eyes shut and took a shaky breath. A storm of emotions was raging through him. Confusion, guilt, doubt, and something else. If he he hadn't known better, he'd say it was relief.

Emil wiped his eyes on his sleeve. He didn't want someone to walk in and see him in that state. He crawled off and slumped into the washroom. There were a few more relics of of what he assumed must have been himself left behind. It was like no one had touched the room since…

He wiped his face with a wet towel, and looked up into the mirror. The smiling face from the photo was gone. In it's place was one with dark bags and hollowed cheeks. The wear of years of hard living. Emil grimaced. He had obviously lost a kilo or two. It amazed him that anyone could have recognized him like this.

Just then, someone knocked at the door.

"Hello? Do you want something to eat?" a woman asked. She had a thick accent, probably Hungarian. Emil didn't answer. He just stared into the mirror, willing her to leave."Hello?" she asked again. After a long pause in which he made no effort to answer, he heard her sigh, and walk away.

Emil returned to the bed, and curled up with the photographs. He looked over all of them, examining each one before laying it down gently when he was done. He soon had a little pile, 7 in all, tucked up against his chest. He sighed, shakily letting his eyes slip close.

He stayed like that, holding onto the little pieces of his memories, until he fell asleep.

He had no dreams that night. No flashbacks nor any visions of his brother plagued him. Even so, when Emil woke up, he was exhausted. He was still curled on the bed in the same position as when he went to sleep, and his pictures were still where he had left them. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. His head hurt and his heart ached. In short, he felt awful.

Someone knocked on the door, making him jump.

"Hey kid, you awake?" Prussia called. Emil frowned.

"Yes," he croaked. His voice was rough, like sandpaper had been scraped along his throat.

"Well, you need to get yourself cleaned up. We're meeting in an hour or so," he explained. Emil let out a low groan.

"Alright," he replied. He heard Prussia walk off, apparently satisfied.

With a sigh, he stood up and headed into the washroom. He washed his face and made a pitiful attempt at combing his permanently fussed hair. He looked at his clothes. They were rumbled from the night's sleep, and even if they weren't, they were still old and worn. He eyed the dresser. If his discoveries the day before were any indication, all the stuff here was his anyway, he justified.

He rummaged through the dresser. Everything was a little dusty, but a hard shake fixed that issue. He chose a simple white button up shirt and a pair of dark jeans. It would be a cold day in hell when he dressed nice for anything that wasn't a job interview or something important like that. He eyed his own jacket and boots, dirty and haggard, and the jacket and boots on and near the chair.

Without thinking, he chose the later. The jacket had a strange familiarity to it, and Emil almost took it off from the sheer uncanniness of the feeling. The boots fit him perfectly, and he tucked the pants into the tops. There was a full length mirror on the washroom door, and Emil looked himself over.

He suddenly realized that the jacket was the one he had been wearing in the photo of him and his brother. He swallowed hard, trying not to choke up again. He glanced over to the pictures still laying on the bed. In a split second decision, he scooped them up and slipped them into one of the breast pockets on his jacket.

Just as he finished, Prussia returned. A glance to the clock on the night stand revealed that it had not been nearly an hour, and Emil frowned.

"Hey kid, you ready?" the nation asked from behind the door.

"Yes," Emil responded, voice recovered. The lock on the door clicked, and Prussia looked in. He froze when he saw Emil standing there in the jacket and boots. He blinked, a question apparent in his face. However, he shook it away.

"Come on, I'll show you the way," Prussia told him. Emil nodded. He quickly grabbed his wallet, as well as the passport and phone on the bed, and slipped out the door.

Prussia lead him down the corridor for a long ways. Emil wasn't sure where to, but he didn't see much choice in the matter. They reached a set of double doors, and Prussia opened them for Emil.

"Wait in here," Prussia ordered, before heading back down the hallway. Emil obeyed, and stood there, looking around. He was in a larger sitting area, with couches and chairs strategically placed around tables. There were windows all along the far side of the room that gave a fabulous view of Brussels, which Emil ignored.

He chose a chair near the door, and sat down. He pulled the phone out, and stared at it. He wondered what he would chose as a pass code if he were, through some twist of fate, actually Iceland. He started tapping, and in only a few tries he had the device unlocked.

He scrolled through the display. Out of curiosity he checked the text history. Nothing revealing there. He then turned to the voice mails.

He was shocked to find that there were dozens upon dozens, a few from as recently as a couple months ago. He blinked, and then checked the name shown. They were all from the same person. Or, in this case, nation.

"Noregur" the notification said.

_Norway_.

He squinted at the name. Iceland went under the sovereignty of the Kingdom of Norway in the aftermath of Laki. If, somehow, this phone actually belonged to Iceland - who, Emil wanted to believe, he was not - why would Norway be calling him?

He flipped to the contacts to try and find Norway, wondering if he could find a picture. There was.

Emil's jaw dropped to the floor.

The picture appeared to be that of the man Emil now knew was his brother. Just to be sure, he pulled out a picture and compared.

It was.

Emil tucked the picture away, and stared at the phone. His mind raced, trying to put this all together. His brother was one of these nations? How?

He sat there, trying to comprehend the thought. Sure, he had seen some pretty strange things recently, but it still seemed utterly absurd. Part of him still thought it was some sort of sick prank, or maybe even an outright dream.

He was so distracted that he didn't hear the door open. He only looked up when he felt someones gaze upon him.

Norway himself stood in the doorway.

Emil bolted upright, pressing his phone to his chest in shock. they stared at each other from across the room.

Norway's face was blank, deep blue eyes devoid of emotion. Emil, however, could see his face was a few shades paler than it should have been, and his lips were pressed thin. The tension in the air about him was palatable. Neither dared say a word.

Emil could feel his throat close. His heart pounded in his ears, and his palms started to sweat. He was frozen to the spot, like a deer caught in headlights.

Norway turned sharply, making to leave the room.

"Wait!" Emil called, without thinking.

Norway stopped, and turned ever-so-slightly.

Emil's mind raced. He wanted to say something. He _had_ to say something.

Norway just watched him, coolly.

"Yes?" he asked, voice cold. Emil cringed, looking down. He willed himself to calm down, but it didn't work.

"I-I know I don't…" Emil began, voice shaky. He took a breath, "...remember you. But I…". He trailed off, voice cracking. Norway just stood there.

Desperate for something, anything, Emil pulled out the photographs. He flipped through them, frantically. Norway raised a brow, evidently confused. Finally, Emil found the picture he was looking for. It was the one with him and Norway, smiling into the camera. He held it, not daring to look up.

Slow, cautious footsteps made their way towards him. Emil kept his gaze on the floor, anxiety coursing through him. Finally, they stopped. Emil braced himself, though he wasn't sure what for.

A pair of hands, rough with ancient callouses, but gentle nonetheless, cupped Emil's face. He stiffened, clutching the photos.

Norway pressed his face into the top of Emil's head, and sighed 's shoulders dropped, and he stood there, unsure of what to do. One could have knocked him over with a leaf at that moment.

"Shhh," Norway soothed, stroking Emil's face with one thumb, "it's alright." Emil's heart seemed to stop. "I'm just happy you're alive."

Emil let out a choked sob, suddenly unable to hold it back

Norway pulled him into a, warm embrace. He rocked Emil back and forth, holding his brother against his chest. Emil buried his face into his shoulder, coming completely undone.

It was all just too much. The kidnapping, the visions, the things he simply couldn't explain, the years of wondering if he would make it from day to day. He sobbed like a child, letting himself crack beneath it all. Norway just held him, rubbing his back and murmuring into the top of his head. they stayed like that for what seemed like hours.

Emil finally cried himself out, and stood there, sniffing.

His head throbbed, his eyes stung, and he felt humiliated. He didn't dare look up. Norway stopped rocking him, and patted his back in a soothing gesture.

"It's okay, everyone has their limit, you don't need to be embarrassed," he told Emil, as if knowing what the younger as thinking. Emil still refused to look up. He could feel himself blushing. There was another long pause. "Follow me," Norway whispered. Emil finally looked up, wiping at his eyes as he did so.

"What?" he whispered back, voice raw. Norway had turned, and was starting to lead him by the arm.

"The others should start coming in soon," Norway explained. Emil's eyes widened. He had forgotten about that. "Come on," Norway urged.

He pulled Emil over to a panel on the side wall. He pushed it open, revealing a hidden passage behind. Emil blinked, and then followed his brother into the darkness.

They soon exited into a hallway much like the one outside of Emil's door, and Norway walked along with him in tow. They reached a door, which Norway unlocked with a key produced from an unseen pocket. Emil ducked inside. He looked around, trying to see where he was.

It was another set of rooms, just like the one Emil spent the night in. It had the same neutral walls and floors, same white bed sheets. It was definitely neater, with no random bits of trach to be seen, and any clothes folded carefully. Emil plopped down on the bed, tired. Norway soon joined him, sitting side by side. Emil leaned on his brother's shoulder. Norway responded, leaning his own head on Emil's.

They sat in silence, one propped up on the other. Note a sound was made, and Emil was thankful for that. He was happy enough just to share in the peace with Norway.

Eventually Emil felt exhaustion creep over him, and he had to fight to stay awake. He stifled a yawn, and blinked his eyes.

It soon proved to be futile, however, and Emil drifted back to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17: Choices, choices

Author's Note: I have somehow managed to successfully strain two thirds of the muscle's in both my thighs, so I decided to make use of the fact that I am stuck on the couch to heal by finishing the penultimate chapter of this fanfic!

In other words, only one more left after this one! :D

Gosh, this has been a ride. I've literally written this thing as I went, so it isn't as big as it probably could have been. But hey, not bad for a first go. Definitely gonna do a rewrite that is a bit more... coherent

I've already started looking at which fic I'm going to do next. I might do a vote to decide, cause I can't chose XD

(Also, to the readers who are relatively well-versed in Icelandic history/folklore: keep an eye out for the not-so-little Easter egg; first one to list all the things correctly gets a prize! (probably a drabble or a sketch, you can specify))

Hope you Enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

Emil had the strangest dream. There was darkness, a voice calling to him. He felt like he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. It was like he was drowning in liquid night.

He woke up with a shock. His heart pounded in his chest, and he had to take a moment to figure out where he was.

He was still in Norway's room. He was on the bed, curled onto his side. He sat up, scanning the room. His brother was nowhere to be found. He stood up, and walked around.

Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong.

The world seemed to be faded, like an old photograph. The colors were muted, shadows clung to the corners like cobwebs The light was low, as if it was late evening. A check out the window revealed the sun was high in the sky.

Emil walked around some more, unease starting to creep over him. This was not right. He slipped over to the door, and peeked into the hallway. It stretched on like a tunnel, and it was almost pitch black. It freaked Emil out.

He crept out into the shadows, and he walked along. his mind raced, trying to figure out what was going on. Anxiety made his palms sweat.

He found a staircase, and headed down. He wasn't sure what he was going to find, but he had a sinking feeling he wouldn't like it.

He walked out into the first floor hallway, and looked around. He walked out, and headed down it. He found the grand entryway, and peered inside. There were a number of people, all dressed as if for a meeting. He could see all the nations he had met, and it looked like they were talking in little groups. Emil shuddered when he realized that there was no sound to be heard.

Slowly, he walked up to one. It was a man who looked half-asleep, with tan skin and curly hair. He reached out, as if to wave a hand in front of his face.

Someone burst into the room. It was a man, with shoulder length brown hair and green eyes. He looked pale, shaken, and he shouted something that Emil couldn't hear.

Most of the people rushed for the door. Emil thought they were going to run into him, but they just passed right through him.

Emil stood there in shock. He stared down at himself, seeing the floor through his hands.

He wasn't there. He was a ghost.

Panic flared up inside him, and he whirled around. He searched for a way to escape, desperate to get out. He wasn't why, he just needed out.

He chose a door, and bolted into the room, He skidded to a stop.

He wasn't in a room.

Emil looked around. He was in a field, a meadow of sorts, surrounded by towering spruce trees. Wildflowers, dull like and pale, bobbed at his feet. A little house stood near the top; an old, weathered thing, that seemed strangely familiar. There was a car in the driveway, but Emil felt in his gut that the occupant was not home. He saw a little path in the forest, and ran down it, pumping his legs as fast as he could.

He burst from the tree line and onto a small beach. He had reached a small fjord, calm and peaceful. The path lead to a long dock that jutted out into the water. A small boat was tied to one of the posts, and someone was sitting at the end. Emil walked up, trying to see who it was. It was Norway, fishing rod in hand. He was smiling, as if listening to someone Emil could not see. Emil looked down at his brother, and reached out to touch him. He stopped. He was still a ghost. He wavered, wondering what to do.

All of a sudden it felt as if he was falling. He gasped, before squeezing his eyes shut. waiting to feel the water.

He hit solid ground, and scrambled to his feet. He saw the man with the wild hair. He seemed tired, like he had been beat down by some great hardship. He looked like he was talking to someone, but Emil couldn't see anyone else. He reached out a hand, like he was going to shake with this invisible person.

The scene changed, showing a hazy realm bathed in darkness. Emil fell to his knees, coughing and hacking as the fog burned his eyes and lungs. Before it could overcome him, however, it changed once more.

There were people, gathered around a massive outcropping of rock. Upon it stood a man, who appeared to be declaring something to the crowd. When he had finished, the crowd cheered.

Another change.

Now it was night. A watery aurora bathed a vast, dark lava field. Pale figures peeked from the boulders. They were the Huldufólk; Elves, dwarves, trolls and spirits. They all lingered, watching four great beasts at the center of the field. A mighty bull, a massive bird, a stone giant, and a vast dragon all stood around a central point. They leaned in, seeming to bow in reverence. What they were bowing to, however, Emil could not see.

The scene faded.

No new vision replaced it this time. Only darkness remained. Emil turned, trying to find something, anything else there. He stopped.

A young man, clad in a heavy woolen cloak, stood just a ways away. His face was only partially visible, and Emil squinted his eyes. He could just barely make out a pair of dull green eyes and messy ashen hair. With a shock, Emil realized that this stranger looked almost exactly like him.

"Who are you?" he asked, without thinking. The stranger smiled at him. There was a slight hint of melancholy in the look.

"That doesn't matter," he assured Emil. Emil narrowed his eyes.

"Where am I?" He asked, suspicion growing.

"A crossroads," The stranger replied. Emil scowled, displeased with the vague response. The stranger ignored it, sat down. He patted the ground for Emil to do the same. He stayed standing.

"And what is this crossroads?" Emil asked, temper growing. The stranger settled himself, getting comfortable. Emil watched him, waiting for a response. The stranger looked down, like he was organizing his thoughts.

After a long pause that grated on Emil's nerves, the stranger looked back up.

"You were Iceland. That is the truth," he stated, bluntly.

For some reason, Emil was not at all shocked by this. Too many strange things had happened recently, and honestly, he was kind of relieved that he wasn't going insane.

"And you are essentially dead,"the stranger continued.

_That_ caught Emil off guard.

"These last few years, you have been in a limbo of sorts. Now, it is time to chose," the stranger held out one hand, "You can become essentially human, live a human life, and die a human death whenever that may be. You will join the other fallen nations in the end, though. _Or_" he held out the other hand, "You can join them now. Forego a life, and all the pain that will come with it, and follow me to eternal rest. The choice is yours."

Emil stared at him, trying to comprehend what he had just said. Slowly, he shook his head.

"No, wait. Prussia came back! Why can't I?" he asked, confused. It was the stranger's turn to shake his head.

"That was a fluke. In fact, you meeting the other nations is a fluke. If you had never known them, you would have simply lived, and died, as a human. It is only because of you meeting them that I came to you," he explained. Emil could feel distress growing within him. This wasn't right. He didn't want to die.

"I want to go back," he insisted.

"You can't, it isn't an option" the stranger told him, simply.

"I want to go back!" Emil yelled. The stranger shook his head again. Emil gritted his teeth in frustration.

"It isn't an option," the stranger repeated.

"No! I don't want to die!" Emil pleaded, desperation filling his voice. The stranger said nothing.

Emil paced in frustration. He pulled at his hair, trying to think of something, anything, to get him out of this. He sat down, staring at the stranger. He just watched Emil, waiting patiently. Emil stood back up, and kept pacing.

This went on for what seemed to be an eternity. Every so often, the stranger would ask if Emil had made a decision, and Emil would glower at him.

Emil laid down, staring up into the nothingness. He didn't want to go anywhere. He had just found his brother for God's sake! The stranger made a comment about how it usually took nations a long time to decide, which Emil ignored. He closed his eyes, willing himself to wake up.

Was someone calling for him?

Emil opened his eyes, and stared at the stranger.

"Did you say something?" he asked.

"No," the stranger responded.

Emil frowned, and closed his eyes again. After a long pause, he heard it again.

He sat up, and looked around. The stranger shot him a questioning look. Emil just listened some more.

Someone was calling for him. He shot to his feet, and craned his head up. He could hear it faintly, like it was from far away. He tried to make it out.

'_Iceland!_' the voice cried. Emil gasped. It was Norway.

"**Noregur**!" Emil shouted. The stranger sat bolt upright. Emil could hear Norway calling for him again. "**Noregur**!" Emil shouted again. The stranger stood up slowly.

Emil squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hear his brother. He was saying something about a light. A blue light._ Follow the blue light._

The stranger grabbed Emil. The young man snapped his eyes open, and started fighting.

"Don't listen! It's too late! You can't go back!" The stranger hissed, trying to drag Emil into the shadows. With all his might, Emil forced his elbows into his ribs. With an audible oomph, he finally let go.

Emil ran, trying to find the light Norway spoke of. He saw it, and sprinted as fast as he could. He heard the stranger shout for him, but he didn't listen. He reached out a hand. He was so close to grabbing it.

**BOOM**

The darkness shuttered. Emil and the stranger were thrown down, roughly.

**BOOM**

The darkness buckled. The stranger screamed.

"_No_!"

The world crumbled.

Emil could feel himself being wrenched away. The stranger grabbed him, and clung to Emil's arm. They stared at each other, violet meeting green.

Recognition like pure lightning arced in Emil's mind. He called out to the stranger, screaming his name. The stranger didn't say anything. Instead, a realization crossed his face. With a sad smile, he let Emil go. Emil felt himself pulled by some strong, unseen force. It was like he was being swept away by a powerful current, sucked deeper and deeper. Blue light dazzled him, and he wondered if this was the end of him.

Emil snapped awake

He gasped, filling his lungs with air. His heart kicked back in, and he could feel life return to his numbed limbs.

Norway leaned above him, fear filling his face. He was cradling Emil, holding onto him for dear life. Emil's head spun. Images, sounds, and feelings flashed through his psyche, and he clung to his older brother for fear of being swept away. Norway clung back, rocking Emil ever so slightly. The older man was clearly shaking, but relief filled his voice as he tried to calm Emil.

When the storm in his mind finally, subsided, he closed his eyes.

He let himself go limp, to tired to try and do anything else. His head ached, like someone had hit him with a brick, and he felt like he was about to throw up. It was absolutely awful

"Djöfullinn," Iceland spat under his breath.


	18. Chapter 18: Resolution

Author's Note: **The Final Chapter!  
**

18 chapters and 2,100+ views. Not bad for a first time fic XD.

Gosh, this was a ride. But alas, it is done. I will probably hold a QA if enough people have questions.

In the mean time, off to work on the next one! (Another Hetalia fic featuring Iceland, in case anyone's curious)

However, I will be on Hiatus until June! I have finals and a big convention that will make me unable to post anymore stories. I will be responding to reviews and PMs, but that is it.

Also: I will be at Fanime 2014 if anyone is interested. I will be a really tall Clear from DMMD (5 feet, 8 inches), so keep an eye out!

Hope you Enjoy!

-Erin

* * *

Life was hard. Life was always. This was nothing new for Iceland. He was used to it. Living for a thousand years on an island that could barely support humanity, scraping by on whatever could be grown and fished from the sea. This is how it always was, and he never complained.

Iceland could also argue that he had come closer to actually dying on more separate occasions than possibly any other nation in Europe. Between disease, famine, and some rather nasty volcanoes, he was amazed he hadn't gone the way of the many less fortunate nations that never lived to see the modern era.

But this experience took the cake.

He could remember his time as starving author-in-the-making Emil Steinsson. He could also see just how close he had come to losing his nationhood altogether. He did not remember the stranger in the darkness, but that would simply confirm what he was thinking at the moment:

He had survived by the grace of what he could only cause a miracle.

It took almost an entire hour for Norway to be convinced to let Iceland go. It didn't help matters that Iceland wasn't exactly complaining about the situation. He was absolutely exhausted, and quite content to be cradled in his brothers arms, even if he would have raised hell had the circumstances been different.

Finally, Iceland was moved to the bed, where he was able to see the small crowd that had gathered in the room. Denmark, Sweden, Prussia, Germany, Switzerland, England, France, Belgium, Netherlands, and a few more were all trying to see what was happening. Norway remained at his brother's side, as if standing guard over him. Iceland tried to ask what had happened while he was out, and a few different volunteers tried to start at the same time. Iceland sighed, and waited for them to figure out who was going to say what. Finally, Switzerland took control and explained what exactly had occurred.

Norway had left the room after Iceland fell asleep, going to explain to the other nations that an amnesiac Iceland had not escaped yet again. When he returned, he had found Iceland on the floor, not breathing and without a pulse. His older brother had panicked, and did everything in his power to try and revive him, up to, and including, magic. It apparently worked, as Iceland awoke after a few minutes.

Iceland took a moment to process this. He looked around at the crowd.

"So I was… dead?" he asked, unsure.

"Pretty much," Denmark replied. Iceland let his head fall back on the sheets. That was not something he was expecting to hear. After a long pause, he spoke up again.

"You really need to figure out a better plan for dealing with this stuff. You sound like crazy people when you say you're nations. I thought you were a cult or something," Iceland told them. They all looked taken aback.

"Wait, I thought you didn't remember anything!" Belgium exclaimed from near the back. Iceland sat up - a move that Norway protested - and fixed the group with a long, hard look.

"Well, I do now," he stated, bluntly. Shock rippled through the group.

"Wait," Switzerland held up a hand, "you actually remember? _Everything_?"

"Yes," Iceland replied.

"Iceland?" Denmark asked, hope lighting his eyes.

"That is my name," Iceland told him. Everyone let out a breath of apparent releif. Several came up to Iceland, asking if he was sure he remembered. Prussia declared that he knew it would happen all along, earning a couple dirty looks. A few, including Germany, apologized profusely for the stress of the past week. None of them, Iceland noted, owned up to the chloroform incident.

Norway eventually got tired of all the activity in the room, and stood up straight.

"Alright, everybody _out_! He needs to rest!" he declared, raising his voice to levels that he rarely ever used. They listened, startled by the sudden volume. When they had all filed out of the room Iceland flopped back down on the bed. Norway watched him.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Tired," Iceland responded, honestly. Norway's expression softened at the word. Iceland felt the mattress shift as the older nation sat down.

"Then sleep," Norway told him, stroking Iceland's hair. "I'll make sure you wake up again," he added quickly. Iceland snorted.

"Thank you; Stóri bróðir."

Philippe had apparently been worrying about Iceland more than the nation realized. Once Iceland found his way back to the young man's apartment, they had spend a few minutes apologizing to each other; Iceland for not telling Philippe where he was, and Philippe for Iceland get lost. Once they had finally gotten past that, Philippe insisted Iceland stay for the beer he had gotten him. He did, of course.

When it came time for Iceland to leave, Philippe asked if he needed a ride to the airport..

"No, I can get back on my own, thank you," Iceland replied. Philippe gave him a surprised look.

"Are you sure? It is a bit far," he asked.

"It's alright," Iceland insisted. Philippe looked unconvinced. "Listen, I'll give you a call when I get there."

"If you're sure…" Philippe said. Emil smiled.

"Thanks for the beer," he told him. Philippe nodded.

"I hope you finished whatever you needed to do."

Iceland chuckled at that, earning him a weird look. The student had no idea.

"More than I thought I would."

Before the sun had gone down, Iceland was back home in Reykjavík. He walked around the streets of his capitol, enjoying the feel of the city. He watched his people, going about their day to day business. There weren't as many as there had been in years past. However, Iceland had a feeling that things would soon change for the better. He could feel that many that had left in the aftermath of Laki would soon return. They were still his people, even if they weren't there with him.

He went back to the flat where he had spent the last few years ,only as force of habit, if nothing else. He needed to talk to the landlord about moving out soon. He had his own house a little way outside the city, and he was ready to get back and check the damage.

He ran into Eiríkur at the front door of the building, and the young man greeted him with a not so traditional greeting.

"_Where in the Hell Have You Been_?" he cried, running up to Iceland at full tilt. The nation was caught off guard, and was almost barreled over by his anxious neighbor. "That's the second time this week! I hope you know you've been fired, you idiot!"

"Happy to see you too," Iceland croaked. Eiríkur was hugging him rather tightly, making breathing a bit of a chore. Eiríkur pulled back and stared at Iceland, hard.

"Did you get a hair cut?" he asked all of a sudden. Iceland blinked.

"Huh?"

"You look… different," Eiríkur examined Iceland, brows furrowed. He was right. The dark spots under Iceland's eyes had vanished, and his eyes were brighter, almost shining. Iceland no longer looked like someone who had been living the way he had been for the last few years.

"It's been an interesting few days," Iceland explained, vaguely. Eiríkur frowned.

"Well, save it for later. You need to find yourself a new job, and Bjarni is pissed."

Iceland stopped. He suddenly remembered something, and he whirled around. He had almost forgotten about Bjarni.

"Hey, I'll be right back," he told Eiríkur. Eiríkur looked taken aback.

"_Now_ where are you going?" he asked, exasperated. Iceland was already halfway to the door.

"I have to talk to someone!" he called over his shoulder.

"Who?" Eiríkur called back.

"Bjarni!"

Iceland walked through the door of Bjarni's shop. It was quite,warm, familiar. The stacks invited him to get lost in the stories, but he ignored them. He remained at the front, waiting for the owner to appear.

Bjarni lumbered to the front as he had done so more. He looked the same as always; same face, same broad shoulders, same bushy beard. He froze when he saw Iceland standing there.

"Emil!" he exclaimed, "Where have you been?". Iceland didn't respond

"You sneaky bastard!" he declared instead, crossing his arms. Bjarni stared at him, shocked.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"How long were you planning to play along?" Iceland asked, still not answering him.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Bjarni asked, clearly not comprehending what the nation was talking about.

"I was in Brussels because the other's found me. They got me to remember," Iceland tapped the side of his head with his knuckles.

Realization lit Bjarni's face as he finally understood. His shoulders relaxed, and a broad grin split his beard.

"Iceland," he breathed. Iceland grinned back as his old friend said his name. The two men strode over to each other and met in a massive bear hug.

"This whole time," Iceland remarked into Bjarni's shoulder, shaking his head. Bjarni chuckled heartily. They pulled back, each gripping the other's shoulders.

"You remembered without my help," Bjarni pointed out.

"No help to you!" Iceland exclaimed. The two made their way to the window seat, and sat down. Bjarni wanted to hear all about the escapade in Belgium, and Iceland was happy to oblige.

The two talked, going over everything from the Brussels incident to some of their older adventures. Iceland had known Bjarni for a long time before Laki, ever since the older man was just a teen. Bjarni was one of the only humans he ever told about his true identity, and Iceland thanked any deity that would listen that he was the one to find him.

They chatted like that until a sudden tapping on the window interrupted them. Iceland turned, craning his neck to see what the noise was. He was greeted with the sight of an extremely disgruntled Mr. puffin, perched on the window ledge

"Oh, I remember that bird," Bjarni remarked, catching sight of the puffin.

"So do I, unfortunately," Iceland told him. With a resigned sigh, Iceland stood, and went to the door. He opened it, and scooped the bird up before it could chew him out.

"'Bout time," Mr. Puffin grumbled. Iceland turned to Bjarni.

"I'll be seeing you then," he told him. Bjarni waved, and Iceland exited the shop with a ringing of the bell.

As Iceland walked down the street, Mr. Puffin in hand, the bird pipped up.

"How about you try not dying for another century," Mr. Puffin suggested. Iceland laughed, his voice echoing in the fading light.

"That sounds like a good idea." He agreed.


End file.
